Part 14 (2/2)

”How do you like _this_?” inquired Dam rising also--and he smote his tormentor with all his strength beneath the point of his chin. Rage, pain, rebellion, and undying hatred (of the Snake) lent such force to the skilful blow--behind which was the weight and upward spring of his body--that Bully Harberth went down like a nine-pin, his big head striking the sharp edge of a desk with great violence.

He lay still and white with closed eyes. ”Golly,” shrilled the Haddock, ”Funky Warren has murdered Bully Harberth. Hooray! Hooray!”

and he capered with joy.

A small crowd quickly collected, and, it being learned from credible eye-witnesses that the smaller boy had neither stabbed the bully in the back nor clubbed him from behind, but had well and truly smitten him on the jaw with his fist, he went at one bound from despised outcast coward to belauded, admired hero.

”You'll be hung, of course, Warren,” said Delorme.

”And a jolly good job,” replied Dam, fervently and sincerely.

As he spoke, Harberth twitched, moved his arms and legs, and opened his eyes.

Sitting up, he blinked owl-like and inquired as to what was up.

”You are down is what's up,” replied Delorme.

”Oh--he's not dead,” squeaked the Haddock, and there was a piteous break in his voice.

”What's up?” asked Harberth again.

”Why, Funky--that is to say, Warren--knocked you out, and you've got to give him best and ask for _pax_, or else fight him,” said Delorme, adding hopefully, ”but of course you'll fight him.”

Harberth arose and walked to the nearest seat.

”He hit me a 'coward's poke' when I wasn't looking,” quoth he. ”It's well known he is a coward.”

”You are a liar, Bully Harberth,” observed Delorme. ”He hit you fair, and anyhow he's not afraid of _you_. If you don't fight him you become Funky Harberth _vice_. Funky Warren--no longer Funky. So you'd better fight. See?” The Harberth bubble was evidently p.r.i.c.ked, for the sentiment was applauded to the echo.

”I don't fight cowards,” mumbled Harberth, holding his jaw--and, at this meanness, Dam was moved to go up to Harberth and slap him right hard upon his plump, inviting cheek, a good resounding blow that made his hand tingle with pain and his heart with pleasure.

He still identified him somehow with the Snake, and had a glorious, if pa.s.sing, sensation of successful revolt and some revenge.

He felt as the lashed galley-slave must have felt when, during a lower-deck mutiny, he broke from his oar and sprang at the throat of the cruel overseer, the embodiment and source of the agony, starvation, toil, brutality, and hopeless woe that had thrust him below the level of the beasts (fortunate beasts) that perish.

”Now you've _got_ to fight him, of course,” said Delorme, and fled to spread the glad tidings far and wide.

”I--I--don't feel well now,” mumbled Harberth. ”I'll fight him when I'm better,” and shambled away, outraged, puzzled, disgusted. What was the world coming to? The little brute! He had a punch like the kick of a horse. The little cad--to _dare_! Well, he'd show him something if he had the face to stand up to his betters and olders and biggers in the ring....

News of the affair spread like wild-fire, and the incredible conduct of the extraordinary Funky Warren--said to be no longer Funky--became the topic of the hour.

At tea, Dam was solemnly asked if it were true that he had cast Harberth from a lofty window and brought him to death's door, or that of the hospital; whether he had strangled him with the result that he had a permanent squint; if he had so kicked him as to break both his thigh bones; if he had offered to fight him with one hand.

Even certain more or less grave and reverend seniors of the upper school took a well-disguised interest in the matter and pretended that the affair should be allowed to go on, as it would do Harberth a lot of good if de Warrenne could lick him, and do the latter a lot of good to reinstate himself by showing that he was not really a coward in essentials. Of course they took no interest in the fight as a fight.

Certainly not (but it was observed that Flaherty of the Sixth stopped the fight most angrily and peremptorily when it was over, and that no sign of anger or peremptoriness escaped him until it was over--and he happened to pa.s.s behind the gymnasium, curiously enough, just as it started)....

Good advice was showered upon Dam from all sides. He was counselled to live on meat, to be a vegetarian, to rise at 4 a.m. and swim, to avoid all brain-f.a.g, to run twenty miles a day, to rest until the fight, to get up in the night and swing heavy dumb-bells, to eat no pudding, to drink no tea, to give up sugar, avoid ices, and deny himself all ”tuck” and everything else that makes life worth living.

He did none of these things--but simply went on as usual, save in one respect.

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