e he comes," said the Coffee-colored Angel, moving swiftly away.
"Why, he's crying!"

Dink came up the path, choking with rage and the knowledge of his own
tears, and in front of them all threw down his coat.

"You thought I was afraid, did you? You thought I was a coward!" he
sobbed. "Well, I'll show you whether I'm afraid of you, any of you,
you big bullies! You big stuff, you, come on!"

And suddenly advancing, he squared off and struck Tough McCarty a wild
blow, crash on the nose.

IX

They adjourned to a sheltered spot back of the stump willows and chose
a bare space of soft, green turf. At their sides the brook ran
splashing over the cool stones.

"Who'll be Dink's second?" said Cheyenne Baxter, the referee.

There was an embarrassed pause.

"Go on, any of you," said Tough McCarty generously.

"I'll be," said the Coffee-colored Angel. "He licked me square."

He stepped over and held out his hand.

"I don't want you--I don't want your hand!" said Dink with a scream.
"I don't want any second; I won't have any! I hate you--I hate the
whole lot of you!"

Cheyenne Baxter consulted with Tough McCarty and came over.

"Say, Dink," he said kindly, "Tough doesn't want to fight you now; it
isn't fair. He'll give you a fight any time you want--when you're
fresh."

"I don't want to wait," cried Stover, blubbering despite himself.
"I'll fight him now. I'll show him if I'm afraid, the big bully!"

"What rounds do you want?" said Cheyenne, seeing it was wisest not to
interfere.

"I don't want any rounds," cried Dink wildly. "I want to get at him,
the great, big mucker!"

Cheyenne went over to Tough, who stood apart, looking very
uncomfortable.

"Better go on, Tough. Don't hurt the little varmint any more than you
have to."

It was a strange fight. They stood around in silence, rather
frightened at Stover's frenzy. Tough McCarty, overtopping his
antagonist by four good inches, stood on the defensive, seeking only
to ward off the storm of frantic blows that rained on him. For Dink
cared not a whit what happened to him or how he exposed himself.

Blinded by rage, crying from sheer excess of emotion, shrieking out
inarticulate denunciations, he flung himself on McCarty with the
recklessness of a mad dervish, crying:

"You thought I was a coward,--darn you! You great, fat slob! You
thought I was afraid of a licking, did you? I'll show you. Lick me now
if you can, you big brute! Lick me every day! I