CHAPTER XX
IN THE MILKSOP CLASS?
"Good! And I'll hold the stakes!" cried Tom Reade jovially, ashe took light hold of Drake's arm.
"Let Miller at the boy!" howled one of the bystanders. "He'llshow the boy something. The kid is getting big enough to learn,and he ought to be taught."
"I'll fight Miller, if he has the sand!" proclaimed Dick, whonow had his own reasons for wanting to sting the liquor sellerinto action. "I'll fight the bully, but not here in a saloonyard. There is a vacant lot the other side of the fence. We'llgo in there and see how much of a fighter he is."
More citizens had gathered by this time, and there was every signof an intention to stop further trouble. But Dave Darrin spranginto the crowd, saying, almost in an undertone:
"The respectable men here don't want to try to stop this affair.A lot of useful manhood depends upon the issue. Don't worryabout my friend, if he does look rather young. He can take careof himself, all right, and he is calling for a fight that oughtto be fought. You respectable men in the crowd keep still, andjust come along and see fair play---that's all."
Dave's earnest eloquence won over many of the men representingthe better element of the crowd.
"Jove! He's a plucky boy!" cried one man.
"But Miller will pound him to a pulp!"
"Come along, everyone, and see whether rum or water is the bestdrink for fighting men!" insisted Tom Reade.
There was a general movement toward the vacant lot. Miller wasmuttering angrily, while some of his red-nosed victims were jeering.
In the field Dick took off his hat and coat, then his tie, andpassed them to Dan Dalzell.
"Dave," whispered Prescott, "you stand by as my second, but don'tmake any too stiff claims of foul. This will have to be roughwork, from the start."
Miller, already in his shirt sleeves, did not feel that he hadany need of special preparation. Prescott looked altogether tooeasy. Not that Miller lacked experience in such matters. Inother years he had been a prize-fighter of minor rank, and hadbeen considered, in his class, a fairly hard man to beat.
"Now, stand up, boy," ordered the saloon keeper, advancing. "Andtake back the crack you passed to me."
"Let's have it," taunted Dick, throwing himself on the defensive.
Miller aimed a vicious blow but did not land. Instead, Prescotthit him on the short ribs.
"If you're going to fight, stand up and take your medicine!" roaredMiller, in a rage.
"Handle your own foot-work to suit yourself!" Dick retorted."I'll do the same. But you can't fight, anyway!"
That taunt threw the liquor seller into a still greater rage.With a yell he sprang at Prescott. But again Dick failed tobe there.
The high school boy was not having an easy time, however. Miller'sstrength was formidable, and Dick knew that he could not stopmany straight blows from his opponent without disaster.
Two merely glancing blows scraped the lad, who had landed fourblows on Miller. The big fellow, however, seemed able to endurea lot of punishment.
"I didn't come out here to run a race!" Miller insisted, as hetried hard to corner the boy.
"Then stand still, and I won't hit you so hard!" mocked Prescott,as he struck the man again on the short ribs.
Then, of a sudden, Prescott hit the earth. He had miscalculated,and Miller's left fist had landed on his nose.
With a hoarse laugh Miller started to follow up the advantagewith a kick.
"Here! Come back! None of that!" shouted a citizen, throwinghis arms around Miller's neck. "Let the boy get to his feet.Fight fair or---we'll lynch you when it's over!"
But Dick was up, the blood flowing freely from his nose. Yethe was hardly less cool as Miller was released and the two againfaced each other.
"Finish him up, Miller, and we'll get back to pleasure!" laughedone of the drunkards in maudlin glee.
"The boy has no show. This is an outrage!" protested an indignantcitizen. "It ought to be stopped."
As the two sparred Dick suddenly saw his chance to get in underthe powerful guard of his antagonist and landed a hard blow onhis solar plexus.
"Umph!" grunted Miller, as he partly doubled up under the forceof the blow.
That instant was enough for Prescott to drive in a blow that nearlyclosed one of the big fellow's eyes.
"Stop this fight!" yelled the same citizen.
"Don't you do it!" warned another. "The boy is taking care ofhimself all right. Let him wind the bruiser up."
Now Miller, smarting and fearing accidental defeat, forgot cautionand tried to rush in for a clinch. But this was the kind of attackthat Prescott was skilled in dodging.
Dick gave ground before the furious assault, but he did so purposely.Back he went, step by step.
"Miller's got him!" cheered the liquor seller's friends.
At last Dick found what he wanted, the opportunity to drive inagain on the big fellow's wind. Miller gave vent to another grunt,followed by a howl, as he felt a stinging fist land against hisother eye.
Now, Dick had his man blinded, ready for the finish. A high schoolfist landed on the side of the big fellow's throat, sending himto his knees. Dick took but half a step backward as he waitedfor the big fellow to get to his feet. The instant that Millerrose Dick darted in, landing his right fist with all his strengthon the tip of the man's chin.
This time the work was complete. Miller went down. Dick, smiling,though breathing quickly, stood over his fallen opponent, countingslowly to ten.
Then, in a moment, those who had favored the boy's side in thefight realized just what had happened.
Loud cheers arose from the crowd. Tom Drake was one of the firstto dart in and seize young Prescott's right hand briefly beforeanother man wanted to shake it. Dick was fairly made to run agauntlet of handshaking.
Most of Miller's "friends" retreated in sulky bad humor. Threeof the liquor seller's followers, however, picked the big manup, staggering under his weight, and bore him behind the doorthat had closed on more than one man's career.
"What do you think of that, Mr. Drake?" demanded Tom Reade jubilantly."Do you put Dick Prescott in the milk-sop class?"