CHAPTER X
THE CHALLENGE
Myron had quite forgotten Paul Eldredge and the incident of the breadpellet and only remembered when he seated himself at table and caughtEldredge's unfriendly stare. As he was late, Eldredge and the otherswere nearly through the rather modest repast, and smiles and whispersacross the board appraised him of the unpleasant fact that he wassuspected of having delayed his arrival in order to avoid encounteringhis table companions. Being far from the truth, this displeased himgreatly and as a result he bore himself more haughtily than ever,thereby increasing the disfavour into which he had fallen at noon. YoungTinkham raised a snigger amongst his cronies by ostentatiously rollinga bit of biscuit into a pellet, but he didn't throw it. PresentlyMyron was left alone, to his satisfaction, Eldredge passing him with achallenging look that would have given him cause for thought had he seenit. At the moment, however, Myron was looking into the bottom of his cupand so had no forewarning of what was to occur.
If Eldredge was in the corridor when he came out ten minutes later Myrondidn't see him. It was not until he was half-way along the walk towardSohmer that he again recalled Eldredge's existence. Then he heard hisname spoken and turned. Two fellows came toward him, the lights of GossHall behind them so that it was not until they had reached him that herecognised them as Eldredge and Rogers. It was Eldredge who had calledand who now spoke.
"Been looking for you ever since dinner, Foster," said Eldredgeaccusingly. "Kept sort of scarce, haven't you?"
Rogers laughed softly, nervously. Myron stiffened.
"You couldn't have looked very hard, Eldredge. I was in my room----"
"Oh, no you weren't!" interrupted Eldredge triumphantly. "I lookedthere."
"Until half-past three--or three."
"Or half-past two--or two," mocked the other.
"Well, what of it?" asked Myron coldly. He knew now that Eldredgeintended trouble. "What did you want me for?"
"Oh, nothing much. I just wanted to give you something."
"I don't want it, thanks," replied Myron. He turned to go on, butEldredge stepped in front of him.
"Don't, eh? Wait till you know what it is, Mister Smug!" Eldredge'sarm shot out. Although he had not guessed the other's intention, Myroncaught sight of the movement and instinctively stepped back. The blow,aimed at his face, landed lightly on his chest. Prompted by a rageas sudden as Eldredge's attack, Myron's right hand swept swiftly upfrom his side and caught his opponent fairly on the side of the facewith open palm. The sound of the slap and Eldredge's snarl of mingledsurprise and pain came close together. Staggered by the blow, Eldredgefell back a pace. Then he sprang forward again.
"You--you----" he stammered wildly.
But Rogers, stout and unwieldy, threw himself between in a panic ofentreaty. "Don't, Paul! Not here! Some one's coming! You'll get the verydickens! You crazy dub, will you quit? _Paul_----"
"No, I won't!" grunted Eldredge, trying to shove Rogers aside. "He can'thit me and get away with it! I'll show him----"
"Let him alone," said Myron.
"No! Aw, quit, Paul! Honest, some one's coming down the line. It won'thurt you to wait a minute, will it?" Rogers was panting now from thedouble exertion of being a human barrier and a suppliant. But he won,for Eldredge, almost as angry with his friend for delaying revenge aswith his enemy, but utterly unable to get past him, stopped his effortsin despair.
"What do you mean, wait a minute?" he demanded, alternately glaring atRogers and Myron.
"Well, wait until tomorrow," panted Rogers. "You know what'll happen ifyou fight here. Do it regular, Paul."
"Tomorrow! Where'll he be by that time?" asked Eldredge scathingly.
"Shut up!" cautioned Rogers hoarsely. "You'll have a crowd here in aminute!" Already a group of three fellows had paused a little way offand were peering curiously through the darkness. "Listen, will you? Youfellows can settle this just as well tomorrow as you can now. Fix it upfor the brickyard at--at what time do you say, Foster?"
"Any time he likes!" answered Myron obligingly. Then, remembering thatthere were such things as recitations, he added: "Before breakfast: saya quarter to seven."
"You won't want any breakfast when I get through with you," growledEldredge.
"That all right for you, Paul?" asked Rogers. By this time he wasleading the others by force of example along the walk.
"Sure."
"Good! A quarter to seven, then, at the brickyard. Come on, Paul. Solong, Foster!"
Myron made no answer as he strode on toward Sohmer. His pulses werestill pounding, although he had managed to control his voice fairlywell, and he was experiencing a sort of breathlessness that was noveland not altogether unpleasant. But, to be truthful, contemplation oftomorrow morning's engagement with Eldredge at the brickyard, whereverthat might be, did not fill him with unalloyed bliss. In fact, asexcitement dwindled something very much like nervousness took its place.Myron was not a coward, but, as he climbed the stairs in Sohmer, hefound himself wishing that he had kept his temper and his tongue undercontrol yesterday noon!
Joe Dobbins, with both lean, sinewy hands desperately clutching histousled hair, was bent over a book at the study table. Joe's method ofstudying was almost spectacular. First he removed his coat, then hiscollar and tie. After that he seated himself on the edge of his chair,twined his ankles about the legs of it, tilted it forward until hiselbows were on the table, got a fine, firm grip on his hair with eachhand, took a long agonised breath--and plunged in! Studying was justas hard for him as it looked, and it is greatly to his credit that hesucceeded at it as well as he did. Just now he looked up at Myron'sentrance. For a moment he stared vacantly. Then his hands dropped fromhis head, the chair thumped back into normal position and he came out ofhis trance.
"Hello," he said vaguely.
"Latin?" asked Myron.
"Math," was the sad response. Then, sensing something unusual about hisroom-mate, he asked: "What's up?"
"Nothing. Why?"
"You look like some one had dropped a firecracker down your neck, orsomething. What's disturbed your wonted calm? Say, how's that? 'Wontedcalm!' Gee, that's going some, ain't it? I mean, is it not?"
"Great," said Myron absently. He went into the bedroom and methodicallychanged coat and vest for a grey house jacket. When he emerged Joe wasstill unsatisfied.
"Going to study?" asked the latter.
"Yes--no--I don't know. I ought to." But Myron seated himself at thewindow instead of at the table and took one leg into his interlacedhands. Joe watched him solicitously. After a minute Myron asked withelaborate unconcern: "Did you ever fight any one, Dobbins?"
"Me?" Joe chuckled. "Well, I've been in a couple of scraps in my time.Why?"
"Just wondered. What--how do you go at it?"
"Me?" Joe leaned precariously back in his chair. "Well, I ain't got butone rule, Foster, and that's: Hit 'em first and often."
"Oh! I--I suppose boxing is--quite an art."
"Don't know much about boxing, kiddo. Where I come from they don't go infor rules and regulations. When you fight--you fight: and about the onlything that's barred is kicking the other fellow in the head when he'sdown! A real earnest scrap between a couple of lumber-jacks is about thenearest thing to battle, murder and sudden death that you're likely tosee outside the movies!"
"I didn't mean that sort of fighting," said Myron distastefully."Fellows at--well, say, at school don't fight like that, of course."
"No, I don't suppose so. I guess they stick to their fists. Anyway, theydid where I went to school. We used to have some lively little scraps,too," added Joe with a reminiscent chuckle. "I remember--But, say,what's your trouble, Foster? Why are you so interested in fighting?"
"Oh, I was just wondering," answered Myron evasively.
"Yeah, I know all about that. Who you been fighting?"
"No one."
"Who you going to fight?"
"I haven't said I was going to fight, have I? I was just asking aboutit. Maybe I
might have to fight some time, and----"
"Sure, that's so. You might. You can't ever tell, can you?" Joe pickedup a pencil and beat a thoughtful tattoo on the blotter for a moment.Then: "Who is he? Do I know him?" he asked.
"Know who?" faltered Myron.
"This guy that's after you. Come on, kiddo, open up! Come across! Let'shear the story."
So finally Myron told the whole thing, secretly very glad to do it, andJoe listened silently, save for an occasional grunt. When Myron hadfinished Joe asked: "So that's it, eh? Tomorrow morning at a quarter toseven at the brickyard. Where's this brickyard located?"
"I don't know. I must ask some one."
"Yeah. Now tell me this, kid--I mean Foster: What do you know aboutfighting?"
"Not much," owned Myron ruefully. "I saw a couple of fellows at highschool fight once, but that's about all."
"Never fought yourself?"
Myron shook his head almost apologetically. "No, I never had occasionto."
Joe snorted. "You mean you never had a chance to find an occasion,"he said derisively. "You were kept tied up to the grand piano in thedrawing-room, I guess. Think of a husky guy like you getting to beseventeen years old and never having any fun at all! Gee, it's criminal!Your folks have got a lot to answer for, Foster, believe me! Here, standup here and put your fists up and show me what you know--or don't know."
Myron obeyed and faced the other awkwardly. Joe groaned.
"Gee, ain't you the poor fish? Stick that foot out so you can moveabout. That's it. Now I'm going to tap you on the shoulder, the leftshoulder. Don't let me!" But Myron did let him, although he thrashedboth his arms about fearsomely. "Rotten! Watch me, not my hands. Nowlook out for your face!"
A minute later Joe dropped his hands, shook his head and leaneddejectedly against a corner of the table. "It's no use, kiddo, it's nouse! You'll be the lamb going to the slaughter tomorrow. Ain't any oneever taken the least interest in your education? What are you going todo when that Eldredge guy comes at you?"
Myron smiled wanly. "I guess I'll just have to do the best I can," hesaid. "Maybe he isn't much better than I am."
"Don't kid yourself. When a guy picks a quarrel the way he did it meanshe knows a bit. Still, at that----" Joe stopped and stared thoughtfullyat the wall. Then: "What's his full name?" he asked.
"Paul Eldredge is all I know of it."
"That'll do. I'll be back in a few minutes." Joe picked up his cap andmade for the door. "Nothing like knowing what you're up against," hesaid. "Sit tight, Brother, and leave this to me. If I was you I'd do abit of studying, eh?"
Myron followed the advice. Just at first it was hard to get his mindon lessons, for his thoughts kept recurring to the coming encounterand when they did he squirmed uneasily in his chair and felt a kind oftingling sensation at the end of his spine. On the football field Myronhad often taken blows and given them in the excitement of the game.He had had some hard knocks and had seen plenty of rough playing. Hecouldn't remember ever having been afraid of an opponent, although hehad more than once entered a contest with the knowledge that the enemywas "laying for him." But, somehow, this was different. What resentmenthe had felt against Paul Eldredge had passed, and so even the spur ofanger was lacking. He would have to stand up there tomorrow morningand be knocked around at Eldredge's pleasure, it seemed, for no verygood reason that he could think of. It was rather silly, when you cameto consider it calmly. Eldredge had been rude to him, he had been rudeto Eldredge, Eldredge had struck him, he had struck Eldredge. Now whenthings were nicely evened up he must take a licking! Well, he supposedthere was no way out of it short of acting like a coward. He would haveto take what was coming to him, getting off as easily as he could, andtry to like it! Well, he had taken punishment before and could again.Having reached that conclusion, he managed to get his thoughts back tohis studies and was going very well when Joe returned.