Whereupon he turned on the Coffee-colored Angel and slathered him, drove him hither and thither with terrific blows, knocked him head over heels, caught him by the throat and beat him against a wall, rolled him on the ground and rubbed him in the dust, tore his clothes, blacked his eyes and left him beaten and supinely, pa.s.sively wallowing.

He walked out on his tiptoes, like a terrier, head erect, his chest out, fists still folded, tears in his eyes--tears of pride and relief.

He had fought a fight, he had received terrific blows and minded them not. He had thrashed the Coffee-colored Angel: he could thrash or take a thrashing from any one. He had his first thrill, the thrill of conscious rage, comparable only to first love and first sorrow. He had licked the Coffee-colored Angel--he was not a coward!

At this highly-auspicious moment the unsuspecting White Mountain Canary perceived the despised object of his chase and, raising a shout, triumphantly bore down upon him. With a rush he cleared the intervening s.p.a.ce and then, catching sight of the new d.i.n.k, stopped as though he had been jerked in by a rope.

A few moments later the group on the Green House steps were lazily working out a French translation, which Beekstein, the Secretary of the Department of Education, was reading to them, when suddenly, in the fields opposite, two figures appeared, zigzagging wildly.

"Here comes the d.i.n.k again," said Stuffy Brown. "They'll get him this time."

"Who's after him?" said Tough McCarty. "He's a disgrace to the House."

"It's the White Mountain Canary," said Susie Satterly.

"h.e.l.lo!" said Cheyenne.

"What?"

"I'll be darned--no--yes--dinged if it isn't the d.i.n.k chasing the Canary!"

As they sprang up, amazed, Stover dove at the fleeing tormentor, caught him, and the two went down in a heap, thrashing to and fro.

"Well, I'll be jig-swiggered!" said Cheyenne.

"I'll eat my pants!"

"The d.i.n.k!"

At this moment the awful wreck of the Coffee-colored Angel limped up.

A chorus broke out:

"The Coffee-colored Angel!"

"Shot to pieces!"

"Ma.s.sacred!"

"Kicked by a horse!"

"What hit you?"

"d.i.n.k," said the Coffee-colored Angel, taking a tooth out of his muddy mouth. "I caught him."

Presently they saw Stover arise and loose the battered White Mountain Canary, who broke wildly for shelter.

"Well, anyhow," said the Coffee-colored Angel, "d.i.n.k's swallowed the Canary."

"What's he up to now?" said Cheyenne.

They watched him approach the fence, deliberately take off his coat, remove his collar and necktie, tighten his belt and methodically, slowly roll up his sleeves.

"Here he comes," said the Coffee-colored Angel, moving swiftly away.

"Why, he's crying!"

d.i.n.k came up the path, choking with rage and the knowledge of his own tears, and in front of them all threw down his coat.

"You thought I was afraid, did you? You thought I was a coward!" he sobbed. "Well, I'll show you whether I'm afraid of you, any of you, you big bullies! You big stuff, you, come on!"

And suddenly advancing, he squared off and struck Tough McCarty a wild blow, crash on the nose.

IX

They adjourned to a sheltered spot back of the stump willows and chose a bare s.p.a.ce of soft, green turf. At their sides the brook ran splashing over the cool stones.

"Who'll be d.i.n.k's second?" said Cheyenne Baxter, the referee.

There was an embarra.s.sed pause.

"Go on, any of you," said Tough McCarty generously.

"I'll be," said the Coffee-colored Angel. "He licked me square."

He stepped over and held out his hand.

"I don't want you--I don't want your hand!" said d.i.n.k with a scream.

"I don't want any second; I won't have any! I hate you--I hate the whole lot of you!"

Cheyenne Baxter consulted with Tough McCarty and came over.

"Say, d.i.n.k," he said kindly, "Tough doesn't want to fight you now; it isn't fair. He'll give you a fight any time you want--when you're fresh."

"I don't want to wait," cried Stover, blubbering despite himself.

"I'll fight him now. I'll show him if I'm afraid, the big bully!"

"What rounds do you want?" said Cheyenne, seeing it was wisest not to interfere.

"I don't want any rounds," cried d.i.n.k wildly. "I want to get at him, the great, big mucker!"

Cheyenne went over to Tough, who stood apart, looking very uncomfortable.

"Better go on, Tough. Don't hurt the little varmint any more than you have to."