Part 10 (1/2)

Gus turned away. So did Siebold. Sadler, who was tired of being punched at Siebold's request, would prefer to do a little looking on. With satisfaction he saw Mr. Gay take his hat and leave the building. The instructor may have seen a sc.r.a.p on the way and wished to evade responsibility. He was anxious to be popular with the boys.

Sadler offered a few suggestions. Immediately several boys surrounded good-natured Gus and shoved him into the open center of the room. Then they did the same to Siebold, but with more verbal persuasiveness and in a moment the two were facing each other, and a pair of boxing-gloves was handed to each.

CHAPTER XV

LOYALTY

The freshman's smile had returned, and he stood with the gloves swinging by the strings from his hand. Siebold, who really was no piker, was slipping on his gloves and having them laced up. Gus wished Bill to talk for him--and Tony too--not that he needed moral support, but it was pleasanter to have good friends along than to be entirely surrounded by opponents. However, he felt quite equal to the physical task, and as ready to stand his ground morally.

”See here, you sophs,” he said. ”I'll box and gladly, but not in the way Siebold wants to.”

”Aw, what do you care how the other fellow feels? It's a bout just the same; isn't it?”

”But Mr. Gay doesn't want us to show any hard feelings,” Gus urged, ”and he's decent to us. I don't believe Siebold really thinks I'm yellow--_do_ you?”--this last to his intended opponent.

”Looks like it,” growled Siebold, showing more indignation than he really felt. Had he permitted himself to use his reason, he would only have admired Gus and would not have quarreled with him. Probably it was nothing more than an uneasy conscience that now a.s.serted itself and made him add, in self-defense: ”I guess you're yellow enough.”

Gus had but one reply to make to that--and his answer was not verbal. He did not again take his eyes from Siebold, but he pulled on the gloves, laced the right one with the clumsy stuffed thumb and his teeth. Then he stepped forward. Siebold made a feint of extending his hand for the customary shake; but Gus ignored it and the next moment the two were at it in a way that showed clearly the desire to hurt each other and to disregard the mere matter of points. It was a slugging match from the first.

Siebold was no mean antagonist, and he had some tricks worthy of the prize ring. Moreover, he was a little taller, a little heavier and had a longer reach than Grier. Immediately it became apparent that he was trying for a knock-out--he meant to put Gus away and to do it as quickly as possible.

But Gus did not mean to be put out, and it became as quickly evident that he was quite capable of making Siebold work hard even to hit him.

Siebold would bore in, drive for the jaw or stomach, and either miss or land lightly; but he would nearly always get a stinging crack in return--delivered at the same instant that his own blow was blocked, or in the fraction of a second after he had only struck the empty air.

Still, these blows of Gus's were not paralyzers--they were just weakeners. They made Siebold angry enough to spend his strength in getting back at the chap who could land in just when and where he wished.

Siebold's nose ached and bled; his eyes smarted, and one was closing.

His stomach, too, was sore, and somehow he could not help but feel that his blows were growing futile. At the end of the fifth round, as he sat back on a bench, letting some of his would-be handlers fan and sponge him, he looked across at Gus, standing there, refusing all half-hearted offers of attention and gazing at him with a smile on his unmarked face, the soph.o.m.ore champion began to wish he had not got into this fuss. Then he grew furious at the thought that he was not making good.

A few minutes later, near the end of the sixth round, he began to try for clinches in order to save himself, but somehow his wary opponent, as quick on his feet and as strong with his hands as he was at the start, was still adept at hitting and getting away. Just then Sadler, who, with watch in hand, always made a little step forward as he called the end of each round, put out his foot when Siebold was facing him and the soph.o.m.ore, tired and eager for a minute's respite, started to get back and lowered his guard. And upon the instant of shouting the word Gus, with his back to Sadler, let go with his right.

Siebold crumpled up like a rag. Sadler, slow to begin counting, stood over him a moment. Gus drew back and with the first excitement he had shown jerked his gloves off and tossed them wide. The boys crowded in, gazing at Siebold who lay with white face and sprawled out like one dead. Gus heard Sadler's count reach eight; then stop. Someone said: ”What's the matter with him, boys?” They had not seen a fellow lie so still and show not even the flicker of an eyelid. One boy stooped down and lifted Siebold's arm, calling to him: ”Wake up! Are you hurt?” A doctor's son got down and put his ear to Siebold's heart. ”Gosh, fellows! It's stopped! He's--he's dead!”

Gus pushed the boys aside. He had hit Siebold over the heart harder than he had intended. What if the blow had proved fatal? Most unlikely; more than once he himself had been struck that way. It had hurt him, and once it brought him to his knees, but it had never made him unconscious. He, in turn, got down and put his ear to Siebold's side. In the excitement both the doctor's son and Gus had listened at the right side and no one had observed the mistake. They were all looking on with horrified faces.

Gus could hear nothing; he touched the prostrate youth's cheek; it was cold. He rose with something like a sob.

”Fellows, I didn't mean to do it. I didn't know he couldn't stand it.

But he can't really be much hurt, can he? Why, I--he----”

Again Gus knelt and listened for heart beats. He slumped down, feeling as though his own heart would stop, too. In his daze he heard someone talking on the telephone at the far end of the gym and dimly distinguished the word ”doctor.” He got to his feet then. No one opposed him. He must get Bill, good old Bill, to speak for him and tell them that he had not meant to hurt Siebold. They must know he was not murderously inclined, and that he hated to hurt anyone, anything, an animal, a bug even; also that he would not run away if they wanted to arrest him.

In a sort of trance he reached his room, where he found Bill and Tony.

Gus fell into a chair, almost sobbing.