e lad who is alike the head of the school and the champion at all
games, is looked up to and admired and imitated, and his power for good
or for evil is almost unlimited among his fellows. Thus the Saturday
afternoon walks became supplements to the evening classes, and questions
of all kinds were propounded to Jack, whose attainments they regarded as
prodigious.

On such an afternoon, as Jack was giving his friends a brief sketch of
the sun and its satellites, and of the wonders of the telescope, they
heard bursts of applause by many voices, and a low, deep growling of
dogs.

"It is a dog fight," one of the lads exclaimed.

"It is a brutal sport," Jack said. "Let us go another way."

One of the young fellows had, however, climbed a gate to see what was
going on beyond the hedge.

"Jack," he exclaimed, "there is Bill Haden fighting his old bitch Flora
against Tom Walker's Jess, and I think the pup is a-killing the old
dorg."

With a bound Jack Simpson sprang into the field, where some twenty or
thirty men were standing looking at a dog fight. One dog had got the
other down and was evidently killing it.

"Throw up the sponge, Bill," the miners shouted. "The old dorg's no good
agin the purp."

Jack dashed into the ring, with a kick he sent the young dog flying
across the ring, and picked up Flora, who, game to the last, struggled
to get at her foe.

A burst of indignation and anger broke from the men.

"Let un be." "Put her down." "Dang thee, how dare'st meddle here?" "I'll
knock thee head off," and other shouts sounded loudly and threateningly.

"For shame!" Jack said indignantly. "Be ye men! For shame, Bill Haden,
to match thy old dog, twelve year old, wi' a young un. She's been a good
dorg, and hast brought thee many a ten-pun note. If be'est tired of her,
gi' her poison, but I woant stand by and see her mangled."

"How dare 'ee kick my dorg?" a miner said coming angrily forward; "how
dare 'ee come here and hinder sport?"

"Sport!" Jack said indignantly, "there be no sport in it. It is brutal
cruelty."

"The match be got to be fought out," another said, "unless Bill Haden
throws up the sponge for his dog."

"Come," Tom Walker said putting his hand on Jack's shoulder, "get out o'
this; if it warn't for Bill Haden I'd knock thee head off. We be coom to
see spoort, and we mean to see it."

"Spoort!" Jack said passionately. "If it's spoort thee want'st I'll give
it thee. Flora sha'n't go into the ring a