"You'll be certain to lick him, Jack," said Diggory, with a face as long as a fiddle;--"won't he, 'Rats'?"

"Lick him!" answered "Rats;" "I should think so! Lick him into fits; I could do it myself."

"He's a beastly bully," added Mugford solemnly; "and bullies always get licked--in books."

"I don't care," answered Jack jauntily, "if I lick him or not, but I know he'll find me a pretty hard nut to crack."

Ronleigh had no recognized duelling-ground, but when a premeditated encounter did take place, the combatants usually resorted to a little patch of gra.s.s situated between the back of the pavilion and the edge of the adjoining field. Here it was possible to conduct an affair of honour without much fear of interruption.

Grundy was already at the trysting-place, accompanied by Andson, a chum from the Upper Fourth, and Fletcher junior. It was quite an informal little gathering, and the business was conducted in a free-and-easy manner, and with an entire absence of the cut-and-dried ceremony which characterized similar undertakings in the palmy days of the prize ring.

"Look here, young Vance," said Grundy, "if you like to apologize for calling me a liar, I'll let you off; if not, I'm going to punch your head."

"Punch away!" answered Jack stolidly, and all further attempt at pacification was abandoned.

The princ.i.p.als took off their coats and collars, while their companions drew aside to give them room, and the signal was given to commence the action.

Grundy made no attempt at any display of science; he simply relied on his superior strength and size, and charged down upon his adversary with the intention of thumping and pounding him till he gave in. Jack Vance knew very little about the "n.o.ble art," except that it was the proper thing to hit straight from the shoulder; and following out this fundamental principle, he succeeded in landing his opponent a good hard drive between the eyes, which made him see more stars than are to be witnessed at the explosion of a sixpenny rocket. Grundy drew back, and after blinking and rubbing his nose for a moment, came on again, this time with greater caution. Jack, on the other hand, emboldened by his previous success, made an unwise attempt to rush the fighting, and was rewarded with a sounding smack on the cheek-bone which broke the skin and sent him staggering back into the arms of Diggory.

Once more the combatants approached each other, this time with a little more feinting and dodging, which showed a certain amount of respect for the weight of each other's fists. At length, urged on to further feats of arms by impatient e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns of "Now, then, go into it!" and "Keep the game alive!" from Fletcher and Andson, they closed again, and after a sharp interchange of rather random pounding, Jack smote his opponent on the nose, and received in return a heavy blow on the chest which very nearly sent him to the ground.

After this there was another short breathing-s.p.a.ce; a thin stream of blood was trickling from Grundy's nasal organ, while Diggory and Mugford noticed with aching hearts that their comrade was beginning to look rather limp, and was getting short of breath.

What would have been the ultimate result of the contest had it been resumed I am sure I cannot say, but I fear that, taking Grundy's superior weight and height into consideration, the story of the fight would have been recorded among the trials and not the triumphs of the Triple Alliance. As it was, a sudden interruption brought the encounter to a premature close.

"Hullo, you young beggars! what are you up to?"

The voice was that of Allingford, who, attracted by cries of "Go it!"-- "Give him another!"--"Bravo, Vance!" and other warlike shouts, had hurried round to the rear of the pavilion to find out what was happening.

"Hullo!" he continued, stepping forward and grasping Grundy by the shoulder; "what's up? what's the joke?"

"It's only a bit of a fight," said Andson; "they had a row this morning."

"What, d'you mean to say you're fighting that youngster? Why don't you choose some one a bit smaller?" demanded the captain, rather bitterly.

"Well, it's his own doing," growled Grundy. "I offered to let him off, but he wanted to have it out."

"Pshaw!" returned the other. "Look here, I've half a mind to give you two a jolly good 'impot' to keep you out of mischief. Now stop it, d'you hear, or I'll send both your names in to Denson."

Fletcher and Andson had already beaten a retreat, and Grundy was preparing to follow, when Allingford called him back.

"Come," he said, in a kinder tone. "I don't know what your quarrel's about, but finish it up like men, and shake hands."

The boys did as they were told, and though the salutation was not a very hearty one, it helped to extinguish the smouldering sparks of anger which might at some future meeting have been once more fanned into a flame.

Grundy disappeared round the corner of the building; but Allingford remained for a moment or two, watching Jack Vance as he fastened on his collar and resumed his coat.

"Well, what was the row about?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Nonsense; fellows don't fight for nothing. What was it? Any great secret?"

"Oh no," answered Jack, laughing: "it began about that lot of verses that was pinned upon the notice-board this morning. Grundy said Thurston was turned out of the team, and I said he wasn't."

The captain smiled thoughtfully, and going down on one knee examined the wounded cheek. "Put some cold water to it," he said, and then walked away.

That look was worth fifty bruises, and for it Jack would have continued the fight with Grundy to the bitter end. Diggory and Mugford fell upon his neck, and were loud in their declarations that in another round their champion would have "knocked the stuffing out" of his opponent.

That this would really have been the case is, as I remarked before, rather doubtful; but one fact is certain--that the conflict caused the three friends to be more firmly established than ever in their loyalty to the side of law and order.

For a couple of days fellows continued to talk about the skit on the eleven, and to hazard guesses as to who was the writer. As the majority, however, p.r.o.nounced it "a dirty shame," and spoke of the author as "some mean skunk," the poet wisely concluded to conceal his ident.i.ty, and by the end of the week the matter was, for the time being, practically forgotten.

CHAPTER XV.

THE READING-ROOM RIOT.

Thurston followed up his withdrawal from the football team by a number of other actions which clearly showed a determination to spend what was known to be his last term at Ronleigh in living at open enmity with those who had once been his friends and a.s.sociates. He never played unless it was in one of the rough-and-ready practice games, composed chiefly of stragglers, who, from being kept in and various other causes, were too late for the regular pick-ups, and came drifting on to the field later in the afternoon. He severed his connection with the debating society, and shunning the society of his comrades in the Sixth, was seen more frequently than ever hobn.o.bbing with Gull and Hawley, or lounging about in conversation with Noaks and Mouler.

Fletcher senior, a mean, double-faced fellow, continued, as the saying goes, "to run with the hare and hunt with the hounds."

"It's an awful pity about old 'Thirsty,'" he would say to his brother prefects. "I try to keep him a bit straight; but upon my word, if he will go on being so friendly with such cads as Gull and Noaks, I shall chuck him altogether."

The speaker's methods of endeavouring to keep his chum straight were, to say the least of it, not very effective, and, if anything, rather more calculated to encourage him still further in his descent along the downward road.

"Look here!" said Fletcher, as they sat one evening talking in Thurston's study: "don't you think you'd better make peace with Allingford and the rest, and be a nice white sheep again, instead of a giddy old black one? I can tell you at present they don't look upon you as being a particular credit to the Sixth."

"I don't care what they think; they're a beastly set of prigs, and I'll have nothing more to do with them--with Allingford especially."

"Well, of course," answered Fletcher, with an air of resignation, "the quarrel's yours and not mine. I must own that I think Allingford made a great deal of unnecessary fuss over that Black Swan business, and acted very shabbily in making you send in your resignation just before the holidays. There's something, too, that I can't understand about the doctor's not confirming your re-election; and I think there ought to have been some further attempt made to get you to remain in the team-- you did a lot of good service last season. However, my advice is, Put your pride in your pocket, and return to the fold."

Young Carton had shown that he possessed a certain amount of insight into character when he told Diggory that Thurston was a dangerous fellow to cross. The ex-prefect's brow darkened as Fletcher enumerated this list of real or imaginary grievances, and at the conclusion of the latter's speech there was a short silence.

"Yes," said Thurston, suddenly making the fender jump and rattle with a vicious kick. "Allingford's got his knife in me; he's bent on spoiling my life here. But that's a game two can play at. I've got a plan or two in my head, and I'll take the change out of him and those other prigs before the term's finished."

Grundy still continued to brag and swagger in the Lower Fourth, but his att.i.tude towards Jack Vance suddenly underwent a change. Towards the latter he a.s.sumed quite a friendly bearing, and though still remaining a stanch Thurstonian, refrained from making himself aggressively obnoxious to the Triple Alliance. The hatchet had been buried for nearly a fortnight when an event happened which caused Ronleigh College to be once more convulsed with excitement and party feeling--a certain air of mystery which pervaded the whole affair tending to considerably increase the interest which the occurrence itself awakened.

Allingford had not, perhaps, been altogether wise in his choice of Lucas as keeper of the reading-room. The latter was a studious, hard-working boy in the Fifth, whose parents were known to be in comparatively poor circ.u.mstances, and the captain had named him in preference to Ferris, thinking that the guinea which was given as remuneration to the holder of this post, as well as to the two librarians, would be specially acceptable to one who seldom had the means to purchase the books which he longed to possess.

The duties of the keeper of the reading-room were to receive and take charge of the papers and magazines, to keep the accounts, and to be nominally responsible for the order of the room. I say nominally, as the law relating to absolute silence was never actually enforced; and as long as the members amused themselves in a reasonably quiet manner, and without turning the place into a bear-garden, they were allowed to converse over their games of chess or draughts, and exchange their opinions on the news of the day.

Lucas was, if one may say it, a little too conscientious in the execution of his duties, and rather apt to be fussy and a trifle overbearing in his manner. He posted copies of the rules on each of the four walls of the room, and insisted on decorous behaviour and perfect silence. The consequence was that he soon became the b.u.t.t of innumerable jokes: fellows said they weren't in school, and meant to enjoy themselves.

"Rats" hit on the idea of carrying in an old newspaper under his coat.

This he surrept.i.tiously produced, and pretended to read as though it belonged to the room. At a favourable moment, with an exclamation of, "Well, this is a rotten paper!" he suddenly crunched the sheet up in his hands and tore it into fifty pieces. Lucas, naturally imagining that the property of the room was being destroyed, rushed up exploding with wrath. An explanation followed, and the whole a.s.sembly went off into fits of merriment, at the latter's expense.