f over two hundred
boys, not half a dozen, and those only Upper Sixth boys--fellows who
came in top hats with umbrellas, and who wouldn't out of regard to their
own dignity--could have challenged him with any chance of success. Yet
he fought very seldom, and then always in a bored, lazy fashion, as
though he were doing it purely to oblige the other fellow.

One afternoon, just as we were about to enter Regent's Park by the
wicket opposite Hanover Gate, a biggish boy, an errand boy carrying an
empty basket, and supported by two smaller boys, barred our way.

"Can't come in here," said the boy with the basket.

"Why not?" inquired Dan.

"'Cos if you do I shall kick you," was the simple explanation.

Without a word Dan turned away, prepared to walk on to the next opening.
The boy with the basket, evidently encouraged, followed us: "Now, I'm
going to give you your coward's blow," he said, stepping in front of us;
"will you take it quietly?" It is a lonely way, the Outer Circle, on a
winter's afternoon.

"I'll tell you afterwards," said Dan, stopping short.

The boy gave him a slight slap on the cheek. It could not have hurt, but
the indignity, of course, was great. No boy of honour, according to our
code, could have accepted it without retaliating.

"Is that all?" asked Dan.

"That's all--for the present," replied the boy with the basket.

"Good-bye," said Dan, and walked on.

"Glad he didn't insist on fighting," remarked Dan, cheerfully, as we
proceeded; "I'm going to a party tonight."

Yet on another occasion, in a street off Lisson Grove, he insisted
on fighting a young rough half again his own weight, who, brushing up
against him, had knocked his hat off into the mud.

"I wouldn't have said anything about his knocking it off," explained
Dan afterwards, tenderly brushing the poor bruised thing with his coat
sleeve, "if he hadn't kicked it."

On another occasion I remember, three or four of us, Dan among the
number, were on our way one broiling summer's afternoon to Hadley Woods.
As we turned off from the highroad just beyond Barnet and struck into
the fields, Dan drew from his pocket an enormous juicy-looking pear.

"Where did you get that from?" inquired one, Dudley.

"From that big greengrocer's opposite Barnet Church," answered Dan.
"Have a bit?"

"You told me you hadn't any more money," retorted Dudley, in reproachful
tones.

"No more I had," replied Dan, holding out a tempting slice at the end