"Wait a moment," commanded Frank Thompson, stepping forward.
He was a member of the first class, a member of the school eleven,
and a husky young fellow who could enforce his opinions at need.
"Get back, Thomp," retorted Ripley. "The cub wants to fight,
and he's got to."
"Not if he has an injured hand," retorted Frank, quickly.
"He hasn't," jeered Ripley. "And he's got so fight, if he has
four lame hands."
"He can fight, then, yes," agreed Thompson. "But remember, Fred,
it's allowable, when a fellow's crippled, to fight by substitute."
"Substitute?" asked Fred, looking uncomfortable.
"Yes; I'll take his place, if Prescott will let me," volunteered
Frank Thompson, coolly.
"You? I guess not," snorted Ripley. "I won't stand for that.
I'm a third classman, and you're a first classman. You're half
as big again as I am, and-----"
"The odds wouldn't be as bad as you're proposing to take out of
this poor little freshman with the crippled hand," insisted Thompson.
"So get ready to meet me. I'll allow one of my hands to be tied,
if you want."
Yet even this proposition couldn't be made alluring 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.
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