Part 6 (1/2)
Bill pondered this and turned to his work, but dropped his tools in a moment, explaining to Tony that there were other figures they must have for calculating the strength of the battery and he would go back and tell Gus.
Bill reached the bas.e.m.e.nt stairs, and in an alcove, alone, as though seeking to hide, was the fellow Luigi. He turned sharply, facing Bill and glaring in evident resentment at the latter's broad, curious stare.
Then the Sicilian spoke:
”Well, you see me. I it is, freshman. Stare at me some more as if I were something to step on and I will give you more reason to stare.”
”What's the matter with you, you, you--” demanded Bill, stopping short and much incensed.
”Ah! Wop? Guinea? Dago? Sphagett--so I am insulta--is it? And by a short-leg!”
”I'd rather have short legs than short brain.”
”I like you so well I smash you in the face!”
Suiting the action to the word Luigi advanced upon Bill, who turned and swung his crutch menacingly.
What then would have occurred it is impossible to surmise, for the crippled boy was handy with the familiar implement that so readily could be used as a weapon, though the Italian was st.u.r.dier, heavier and much older--in fact, although small, he was almost a man.
But just at the moment there was a quick, descending footfall on the stair and the door opened. Gus, with wide eyes, stared at the near and unequal combatants.
”Hold on!” said the big fellow, glaring. The Italian hesitated, though but for a moment. ”You wouldn't really hit a fellow who is lame, would you?”
”Ah, get away! Go off!” snarled Malatesta, attempting to thrust Gus aside as the strapping youth stepped in front of him. But the thrust was futile and then Luigi, growing furious, struck at Gus a powerful blow.
The fellow was muscular and quick, but there was no thought behind the blow. And there was in contrast a smile on the face of the easy, athletic American.
The Italian's fist was clutched by a ready hand, much as a baseball would have been caught, and then a very differently directed fist shot out and came in contact with Luigi's upper stomach--he got that generally final solar plexus blow. Luigi gave a soft, aching grunt and sank to his knees, then to his elbows and rolled over on his side, in a half-minute more sitting up and gazing around, but still in pain. He was again alone.
CHAPTER XII
TESTS
”I suppose now we'll all get blown up, or poisoned, or something,” Bill said to Tony, after telling of the eclipse of Luigi Malatesta.
”Oh, no; the Malatesta are foemen worthy of our steel, to agree by an English poet; is it not?”
”'Foeman worthy of a steal,' I guess you mean,” laughed Gus.
”Yes, that's more like it. I wouldn't trust that pig-faced villain across a ten-acre lot with a ten-cent piece!” declared Bill.
”The soul of honor doesn't dwell in a husky guy who'd strike a cripple,”
said Gus. ”And I bet a cow he's going to stir up more trouble around here before he quits maneuvering.”
Tony made no reply, but stood for a long time, gazing at the floor.
Presently only the sound of tools and machines was heard in the shop.
It is not probable that Luigi told of the precise outcome of his clash with Bill and Gus, though he may have said enough to influence soph.o.m.ore sentiment against Bill's standing in the school. At any rate, the feeling grew in strength and spread until it became a subject of comment among freshmen and seniors who were inclined to sympathize with the brainy and keen-witted lame boy. At least he had many friends, both high and low, and most of the teachers admired him openly.