The High School Freshmen | Page 2

to Fred Ripley. He
knew Thompson's mettle and strength too well for that.
Dan Dalzell, another freshman, had been standing back, keeping quiet
as long as he could.
"See here," proposed Dan, stepping forward, "isn't a freshman allowed
to say something when his friend is insulted?"
"Go ahead," nodded Thompson, who knew Dan to be one of young
Prescott's close friends.
"Dick isn't in shape to fight, and I know it," continued Dan Dalzell,
hotly. "But Ripley wants something easy, like a freshman, so he can
have me!"
"And me," cried Tom Reade, also leaping forward.

"He can have one with me, too," offered Harry Hazelton.
"Same here," added Greg Holmes and Dave Darrin.
All five of the speakers were freshmen, and close chums of Dick
Prescott's.
"Say, what do you think I want---to fight a whole pack?" demanded
Ripley, hoarsely.
"Oh, you don't have to fight us all at once," retorted Dave Darrin. "But
you've insulted our friend, and you've taken a sneaking advantage of
him at a time when you knew he couldn't handle anyone as big as you
are. So, Ripley, you're answerable to Prescott's friends. I'll tell you what
you can do. There are five of us. You can take any one of us that you
prefer for the first bout. When you've thrashed him, you can call for the
next, and so on. But you've got to go through the five of us in turn. If
you don't, I'll call you a coward from now on. You're bigger than any of
us."
"See here, Cub Darrin," raged Ripley, starting forward, his face aflame,
"I don't allow any freshman to talk that way to me. I won't fight you,
but I'll chastise you, and you can protect yourself if you know how."
He made a bound forward, intent on hitting Darrin, who stood his
ground unflinchingly. But Thompson seized the third classman by the
shoulder and shoved him back.
"Now, stop this, Ripley, and you freshmen, cut it out, too," warned the
athletic first classman. "This is descending to a low level. We don't
want a lot of bickering or mouth-fighting, and we don't intend to have
anything but fair play, either."
"As this is largely my affair," broke in Dick Prescott, who had had time
to cool down a bit, "let me have a chance to make an offer."
"Go ahead," nodded Thompson.

"Then," proposed Dick, "since you won't let me fight today, why can't
this meeting hold over until my hand is in shape? Then I'll agree to give
Ripley all he wants."
"That's the only sensible thing I've heard said in five minutes," declared
Frank Thompson, looking about him at other upper classmen. "Is it the
general opinion that the fight hold over for a few days, or, say, a
fortnight?"
"Yes," came back an eager, approving chorus.
"Then so be it," proclaimed Frank. "And now, remember, Ripley, this
fight is not to be pulled off until the school agrees to it. If you pick any
trouble with Prescott until you get the word, or if you try to find any
excuse for hitting him while his hand's out of shape, then you'll answer
to the school for your conduct. You know what that means, don't you?"
"Humph!" snorted Fred Ripley. "All this fuss about the High School
sneak!"
Again Dick started forward, but Thompson caught him firmly.
"Hold on, freshie!" advised the older boy. "Save it up. Bottle it. You
can have all the more fun out of Ripley when your hand is in shape."
"His hand is in as good shape as it ever was," retorted Ripley,
scornfully. "And he lies when he says he didn't do this."
Ripley swung, so as to display the tail of a short topcoat that was one of
his treasures. The garment was fashionably made and of the best
material, for Ripley's father was a wealthy lawyer in Gridley, and the
young Ripley hopeful had all the most costly things a boy can prize.
Along the tail of the coat some miscreant had daubed a streak of fresh
white paint. Ripley had found it there when donning the coat to leave
school at one o'clock that day. Fred knew that Dick had been in the coat
room after recess, and, as he disliked the freshman, Ripley had accused
Dick of the deed.

Having fired his parting shot, Fred turned on his heel, sauntering over
to where the fluttering group of girls waited. One of them, Clara Deane,
stepped forward to meet him.
"Fred, why do you have anything to do with such a low-down fellow as
Prescott?" asked Clara, contemptuously.
"He's the sneak of the school," uttered Fred, harshly; "but I can't let
even a sneak streak my coat with paint."
"And he never did such a thing,