saw Tipping standing over him with a plainly hostile
intent.

"Go away, Tipping," said Dulcie; "we don't want you. Dick is telling me
a secret."

"He's very fond of telling, I know," retorted Tipping. "If you knew what
a sneak he was you'd have nothing to do with him, Dulcie. I could tell
you things about him that----"

"He's not a sneak," said Dulcie. "Are you, Dick? Why don't you go,
Tipping. Never mind what he says, Dick; go on as if he wasn't there. I
don't care what he says!"

It was a most unpleasant situation for Mr. Bultitude, but he did not
like to offend Tipping. "I--I think--some other time, perhaps," he said
nervously. "Not now."

"Ah, you're afraid to say what you were going to say now I'm here," said
the amiable Tipping, nettled by Dulcie's little air of haughty disdain.
"You're a coward; you know you are. You pretend to think such a lot of
Dulcie here, but you daren't fight!"

"Fight!" said Mr. Bultitude. "Eh, what for?"

"Why, for her, of course. You can't care much about her if you daren't
fight for her. I want to show her who's the best man of the two!"

"I don't want to be shown," wailed poor Dulcie piteously, clinging to
the reluctant Paul; "I know. Don't fight with him, Dick. I say you're
not to."

"Certainly not!" said Mr. Bultitude with great decision. "I shouldn't
think of such a thing!" and he rose from the bench and was about to walk
away, when Tipping suddenly pulled off his coat and began to make sundry
demonstrations of a martial nature, such as dancing aggressively towards
his rival and clenching his fists.

By this time most of the other boys had come down into the playground,
and were looking on with great interest. There was an element of romance
in this promised combat which gave it additional attractions. It was
like one of the struggles between knightly champions in the Waverley
novels. Several of them would have fought till they couldn't see out of
their eyes if it would have given them the least chance of obtaining
favour in Dulcie's sight, and they all envied Dick, who was the only boy
that was not unmercifully snubbed by their capricious little princess.

Paul alone was blind to the splendour of his privileges. He examined
Tipping carefully, as the latter was still assuming a hostile attitude
and chanting a sort of war-cry supposed to be an infallible incentive to
strife.

"Yah, you're afraid!" he sang very offensively. "I wouldn't be a funk!"

"Pooh!" said Paul a