It was almost noon the next day before Jim and Percy rolled out of their
bunks in Camp Spurling. One of Filippo's best dinners satisfied the last
cravings of their appetites; but for a week they felt the strain of
their forty-seven hours in the dory and on the buoy.
"When did you reach the _Pollux_, Throppy?" asked Jim.
"I didn't reach her at all. When you didn't show up that night I
wirelessed Criehaven, and the operator there hit the cutter thirty miles
to the westward the next forenoon. She began hunting for you right away,
but it wasn't until twenty-four hours later that she found you on the
_Gracie King_. We picked up a message from her some time after she took
you off the schooner. Perhaps it didn't relieve our minds!"
Jim drew a long breath as he glanced round the cabin.
"Seems good to be here! Not a bad old camp, is it, Perce?"
"Never saw a hotel I'd swap it for," replied Percy, promptly.
Two mornings later Budge and Percy started in the sloop for Vinalhaven
after a load of herring. Jim did not accompany them, as he had decided
to spend a forenoon hauling and inspecting the lobster-traps. The
_Barracouta_ ran in alongside Hardy's weir at nine o'clock and took
aboard thirty bushels of small fish. She then went around to Carver's
Harbor to purchase supplies and fill her tank with gasolene.
It was Percy's first visit to the town since July 4th, the occasion of
his disastrous encounter with Jabe. In actual time, his defeat lay only
a few weeks back; but, measured by the change that had taken place in
himself, the period might well have been years in length.
Percy was treading hostile ground, and he knew it. Prudence might have
counseled him to remain on board the _Barracouta_ while Budge was making
his purchases. Instead, he chose to stroll carelessly along the main
street. At a corner he passed a group of small boys, who recognized him
at once.
"It's the fresh guy Jabe licked on the Fourth," he heard one mutter in a
low tone. "Let's have some fun with him!"
"Sh!" exclaimed another. "Jabe's over in Talcott's grocery. We'll get
'em together again!"
Never interrupting his leisurely saunter, Percy passed out of hearing.
But his heart was beating a little quicker and he was conscious of a
tightening of nerves and muscles. Weeks of secret, painstaking
preparation were drawing to a climax.
Half-turning his head, he saw a barefooted urchin dash across the street
and into a store on the other side. Percy began to whistle cheerfully as
he strode along, alive to all that was taking place behind him.
Crossing the street, he was able to glance back without appearing to do
so; and he was just in time to see a stout, freckle-faced, bullet-headed
youth shoot out of the store and come hurrying after him, with an eager
crowd of small fry trailing behind.
Still feigning unconsciousness of the approaching peril, Percy
proceeded, whistling blithely. Through a gap between two buildings he
had caught sight of a barn standing alone, some distance ahead and well
to one side of the main street; its door was open, revealing a broad
stretch of empty floor. He quickened his pace, and presently turned down
the short street leading to the structure. Jabe and his retinue were
less than fifty yards behind, and gaining rapidly. As Percy turned the
corner they broke into a run.
At that same instant young Whittington also began to sprint at top
speed; and he kept up this pace as long as he felt sure the building on
the corner concealed him from his pursuers. The second the sound of
their approaching feet became audible he dropped into his former gait.
He was now almost opposite the open door of the barn.
His ears told him that Jabe and his crew had also swung into the
cross-street.
"Hey, there!" shouted a voice, roughly.
Percy halted at once and wheeled about with affected surprise. A side
glance into the barn told that its mows were well filled and that its
floor was strewn with hayseed. Standing at ease, he awaited the approach
of his foes.
Jabe dashed up on the run. Five feet from Percy he came to a sudden stop
and pushed his bulldog jaw out belligerently.
"Well," he growled, scowling darkly, "I've got you at last just where I
want you. You can't cry baby now and run to that big, black-haired
fellow. I'm going to lick you good!"
Percy stared at his enemy in mild wonder.
"What for?" he queried, innocently.
But the outward calm of his tones and manner did not betray, even
remotely, what was going on beneath. His heart was pumping like an
engine, the blood coursed hotly through his arteries, and all over his
body his wiry muscles had tensed and knotted. Nine weeks of vigorous
life in the open, combined with systematic exercise, taken with the
possibility in view of some time squaring his account with Jabe, had
made of him an antagonist that even an older, heavier boy might well
hesitate to tackle.
Of all this Jabe was ignorant. He saw before him the same fellow he had
mastered on the evening of the Fourth, a little browner and
clearer-eyed, possibly a little straighter and stouter, but still the
same foe his fist had sent to the ground. Jabe knew of no reason why he
could not easily repeat his victory, and he burned to do so in the
presence of his admirers. Percy's harmless query roused him to
unreasoning anger.
"What for?" he mimicked. "What for? Why, because I always intend to
finish what I begin; and I had you only half-licked when they pulled me
off. Now I'm going to polish you up to the queen's taste. Hustle into
that barn!"
Percy allowed himself to be herded through the open door; it might have
been noticed, however, that he was careful not to turn his back to Jabe,
and that he stepped springily, with his feet well apart. Once inside,
he slid his sole over the hayseed that covered the floor; it was no
slipperier than the carpet of needles in that glade of the evergreens
where he had practised daily with his improvised punching-bag since the
second week in July. A quick glance about photographed on his brain the
details of the arena in which he was so soon to play the gladiator.
Jabe misunderstood the glance, and it increased his eagerness to begin
the fray.
"Afraid, are you?" he sneered. "Looking for some way out? Well, there
isn't any besides this door. Line up across it, boys, and trip him if he
tries to bolt before I get through with him. The rat's cornered at last,
and now he's _got_ to fight. Peel off that coat, Mister! Move quick. I
don't want to stop here all day!"
Percy deliberately drew off the garment, folded it into a neat bundle,
and laid it, with his cap, on a barrel in a corner of the floor. He had
on a closely fitting black jersey, trousers held up by a belt, and
rubber-soled tennis sneakers. This costume was not accidental. It had
been donned that morning with an eye to possibilities and in accordance
with previous solitary rehearsals. Thus far, events could not have
suited him better if he had planned them.
His deliberate motions increased Jabe's anger.
"You'll move faster than that when I get after you," he sneered, "or
it'll be over so quick that there won't be any fun in it. Now put up
your fists, for I'm going to lick you within an inch of your life! Guard
that door, boys!"
His grinning satellites lined up across the opening, two deep, eyes and
mouths wide open. In the front rank Percy recognized the imp who had
burnt his coat, Jabe's brother, whose chastisement had started the
trouble. The lad was dancing up and down with pleasurable anticipation.
"Lick him, Jabe!" he shrilled. "Lick him, Jabe!"
Swinging his clenched fists windmill fashion, Jabe made a savage rush
across the echoing floor. Percy waited until his foe was almost upon
him, then agilely leaped to one side. Carried on by the momentum of his
charge, Jabe swept by and smashed against the wooden partition with a
violence that set the hayseed sifting down from the loaded mow. Whirling
about, he came back with increased rage.
The boys yelled encouragement to their champion, their voices blending
in a chorus, topped by his brother's high-keyed falsetto:
"Lick him, Jabe! Lick him, Jabe!"
Baffled in his first attempt, Jabe needed no applause to incite him to
his best efforts. His fists rose and fell like flails as he spurned the
flooring in a second onslaught upon his nimble foe. Again Percy,
standing motionless until his assailant was almost within arm's-length,
avoided his attack; and again Jabe brought up against the other wall
with a force that made the boards rattle.
Percy stood untouched a few feet away, smiling slightly, as his opponent
gathered himself for another rush. The sight of his enemy, cool and
unruffled, made Jabe furious.
"Why don't you fight, you coward?" he cried. "If only I can reach you
just once, it'll be all over!"
He hurled himself forward like a missile from a catapult. His right
fist grazed Percy's cheek. Roused from his policy of inaction, Percy
shot in a stinging blow that found its mark under Jabe's right ear and
sent him staggering. The fight was now fairly on.
To and fro across the slippery hayseed the antagonists battled, raising
a cloud of dust. The floor echoed hollowly under their quick tread.
From the outset Percy knew that he had not a single sympathizer. But
instead of discouraging him, that fact nerved him to do his utmost. He
kept himself well in hand and did not waste an effort. If he could
continue to side-step Jabe's quick rushes, and let the latter tire
himself out, the fight was as good as won.
It was a very different battle from that on July 4th. Jabe was as good
as before, but no better; while Percy had improved at least a hundred
per cent.; he had more skill and his nerves and muscles were far
stronger. His rubber soles, too, gave him an advantage that he was not
slow to improve. They assured him firm footing on the slippery floor and
enabled him to turn quickly, as without trying to strike he contented
himself with eluding Jabe's mad charges and sledge-hammer blows.
The audience that blocked the door had grown silent. Things were not
going according to schedule. After the first few rushes they had
realized that their hero was getting the worst of the encounter.
Ten minutes had gone by. Jabe was breathing hard, while Percy was fresh
as ever. His cool smile maddened his antagonist and made him less
skilful. In one of his onsets he had slammed his doubled fist against
the wooden partition and split his knuckles; the pain and the running
blood made him wild with rage.
Confident at first of easy victory, he had finally realized that Percy
was playing with him, that he had met his master in the boxing-game. His
face had shown in turn anger, surprise, alarm, and at last positive
fear. But one thought possessed his mind, to win at any cost, by fair
means or foul. His rushes, which had slackened, grew more violent. He
came at Percy head down; he tried to crowd him into a corner, to throw
his arms around him, to overpower him by sheer, brute strength.
Percy realized that in a rough-and-tumble he would be no match for Jabe.
In legitimate boxing he had shown himself his foe's superior; and he was
not particularly anxious to emphasize that fact by blacking Jabe's eyes
or "bloodying" his nose. He would have been willing to let the matter
stand where it was or allow Jabe to wear himself fruitlessly down to
exhaustion. But such a course was neither feasible nor safe. Jabe would
never voluntarily acknowledge that he was beaten. Besides, there was
always the chance of something happening to put Percy at his mercy; and
Percy knew only too well what that mercy would be.
His only safety was to force a clear-cut decision.
"It's a case of knock-out," he decided. "No use to bruise him up. Might
as well have it over quick!"
Savagely, though somewhat wearily, yet with undaunted determination,
Jabe rushed him and struck out with his left. For the first time in the
battle Percy launched in with all his strength. He cross-countered with
his right on the point of Jabe's jaw.
It was the wind-up. Jabe hit the hayseed in a heap. For a few seconds he
lay motionless, then struggled to a sitting position.
"Got enough?" asked Percy.
Jabe took the count.
"I'm licked," he acknowledged; and there were tears in his voice.
"Can I do anything for you?"
"No; I'll be all right in a little while."
Percy put on his coat and cap and started toward the door. As he passed
Jabe the latter stretched out his hand.
"You can fight," he conceded, grudging admiration in his tones.
Percy grasped the bunch of stubby fingers.
"So can you," he returned. "If you'd been to the masters I've had, I
wouldn't care to mix it with you."
The boys opened a way for him respectfully as he passed through the
door. He was breathing a little quicker than usual, but he had not
received a scratch. Going back to the wharf where they had landed, he
found that Budge had been waiting for him almost fifteen minutes.
"What makes you so late, Perce?" he hailed. "We want to ship these
groceries and start for Tarpaulin before noon."
Percy began passing the boxes and bags down aboard the dory.
"Sorry to have kept you waiting," he apologized. "But I've just been
settling an account with an old friend."
Then he told Lane of his encounter with Jabe.
"Now," continued he, "I'll tell you why I've been up into the woods
every afternoon with that sweater of rockweed. I made it into a tight
bundle and hung it on a springy limb to use for a punching-bag. It
wasn't very ornamental, but it served the purpose. I've been training
for this fight ever since the Fourth; had a feeling I'd get another
chance at him. It's over now, and I hope everybody's satisfied. I am, at
any rate."
"So that's the reason of your daily pilgrimages," laughed Lane. "You
certainly have been faithful enough to deserve to win. But what if you'd
never run across Jabe again? Wouldn't you have felt that you'd thrown
away your time?"
"Not a bit of it! That bout every afternoon has kept me in first-class
shape. But now the great event has come off, I'm going to break training
and give the rockweed a rest."
The _Barracouta_ was back at Tarpaulin before three o'clock. A remark
dropped by Budge roused the curiosity of the others, and Percy was
obliged once more to recount the story of his fight with Jabe.
"Well," said Jim, when he had finished, "they say a patient waiter is no
loser; but I guess it depends a good deal on how you spend your time
while you're waiting--eh, Perce?"
That night, after dark, when the boys were preparing to turn in, Filippo
stepped out to the fish-house for some kindling. He came back on the
run.
"_Fuoco!_" he panted.
The others trooped out hastily. On the southern horizon flamed a ruddy
light. Spurling gave a cry of alarm.
"Boys, it's a vessel on fire!"