CHAPTER II. THE SON OF TOIL FIGHTS HIS OWN BATTLE.
Paul Bristol seemed to have made only a couple of bounds before he had covered the distance between the cottage and the shore. He saw his sister struggling to release herself from the grasp of Walk Billcord. All the indignation Nature had portioned out to him was roused, and he did not stop to ask any questions. He did not even utter a word of warning or reproach.
His two fists were clinched in hard knots before he reached the scene of the encounter, and, without waiting to consider the situation, he planted a blow with his right fist between the two eyes of his sister's persecutor, and then did the same with the left. The effect was instant and decisive. Walk went over backwards upon the sand, and his hold upon the fair maiden was released.
By this time Mrs. Bristol had come to the spot, and, putting her arm around her panting, trembling daughter, she led her to the cottage without taking note of the result of the battle, though she could not help seeing that the tormentor had been vanquished in the first onslaught.
Walk Billcord was utterly astonished as well as effectually upset. Paul Bristol had always been meek and subservient in his dealings with the students, and no one could have suspected that there was anything like a claw in his hard paws. If Mr. Walker was astonished the first moment after his unexpected fall, he was indignant and boiling over with wrath the second.
Though it was probable that both of the young gentleman's eyes had been put into mourning for the coming week, he was not otherwise damaged, and he leaped to his feet as soon as he could realize what had happened. He saw that he had been struck down by one whom he had always regarded as a son of toil,—a sort of cur about the premises of the institute. His blood boiled, and, without a word of any kind, he proceeded to "pitch into" his late assailant with all the physical vigor he could bring to bear upon him.
Paul warded off the wild blows aimed at him, and soon planted one of his own on the end of the young gentleman's nose, which caused the blood to flow in a stream from that organ. But Walk did not mind this little incident, though Paul was rather startled to see what he had done. The latter was inclined to deal as gently as he could with his gentlemanly opponent; but he found it necessary to defend himself from the impetuous charges of Walk. In doing so he delivered a hard hit, which carried his foe to the ground again.
The young gentleman was not yet satisfied, though he realized that he was not a match for his toil-hardened opponent. He sprang to his feet once more, out of breath, but unwilling to yield a hair to such an assailant. Grasping the stick Lily had used to haul in the boat, he again rushed upon Paul, and aimed a blow at his head; but Paul retreated a few steps, and picked up the oar which had dropped on the beach.
Paul Bristol was entirely cool, now that his sister was no longer in peril, and he began to realize that a quarrel with the son of the proprietor of the domain was a very serious matter. With the oar he warded off the blows of his insane adversary, and this was all he wished to do. He could easily have "laid him out" again, but the fear of consequences kept him within bounds.
Walk exhausted himself to no purpose. He could not hit his opponent, and his strength and his wind were soon used up. He drew back a little, and fixed a savage gaze upon his stalwart enemy. He panted like a wild beast at bay, and his blood boiled all the more because he could accomplish nothing.
"I'll settle you yet, Paul Bristol!" exclaimed Walk as he stepped down to the edge of the water and began to wash the blood from his face.
"I'm settled now," replied Paul calmly. "I have had enough of it, and I should like to stop where we are."
"You won't stop where we are, not till I have beaten you to a jelly. I shall break every bone in your dirty carcass before I get through with you," gasped Walk, struggling for an even supply of breath.
"When I say I have got enough of it, that ought to end the affair," added Paul with a cheerful smile on his face.
"I don't care what you say; you haven't got enough. You have given me two sore eyes and a bloody nose, and you haven't got anything to balance it," growled Walk. "I mean to break your head, and then I will call it square."
"But I don't want my head broken, if it is all the same to you," replied Paul, leaning on the oar. "My head is of some use to me, and it would not be pleasant to have it broken."
"You began it, and you shall have enough of it before we are done," added Walk, beginning to breathe a little more freely.
"I began it?" queried Paul with the same cheerful smile. "I don't think so, and I should like to argue the question with you."
"Didn't you hit me first, you nunkhead?" demanded Walk.
"Didn't you lay hold of my sister first, and frighten her half out of her wits?"
"I didn't hurt her, and I was only fooling with her."
"Fooling with her! That's just what I was doing with you. I was only fooling with you, Mr. Walker."
"I don't like that sort of fooling, you speckled cur!"
"My sister didn't like your sort of fooling any better than you like mine. But, if you want to stop fooling, now is a good time to begin."
"I will stop when I get even with you, and not before," snapped Walk. "You struck the first blow, and I mean to strike the last."
By this time the young gentleman had fairly recovered his wind, but nothing like coolness had come over his temper. Dropping the stick, he rushed upon Paul again with his naked fists. He was savage, and the boatman's son soon found that he could not passively defend himself, and the result was that Walk soon went under again.
This disaster made him madder than ever, and when he rose from the beach he seized the stick again, which Paul met with the oar. Paul liked this way of carrying on the combat better than the other, for he could defend himself without inflicting any injury on his furious opponent.
While Walk was thus wearing himself out, a gentleman with a riding-whip in his hand came out of the path through the woods. As soon as he discovered what was going on upon the beach, he quickened his pace, and reached the scene of the conflict at a sharp run. It was Major Billcord, the father of Paul's wrathy opponent.
"What does all this mean?" demanded the major when he had come within speaking distance of the combatants. "How dare you strike my son with that oar?"
"I haven't struck him once with it," replied Paul, aghast at the presence of the mighty proprietor of the domain. "I am only defending myself, sir."
"You have no business to defend yourself against my son, you dirty puppy. How dare you lift a weapon against him?" stormed Major Billcord; and to him there was only one side to the controversy, whatever it was.
Walk had dropped his stick as soon as he heard the voice of his father, and Paul had done the same with the oar. The latter felt that he had got into a very bad scrape. The major was a magnate of the first order, and he was supreme on his own domain. His mother was a tenant at will at the cottage. All the money she had inherited from her father's estate, and all she had in the world, was invested in that cottage. The mighty major could turn them out of house and home at a moment's notice, as they paid no rent.
"What does all this mean, my son? I am sorry to see you fighting with such a cur as that," said Major Billcord when the battle was suspended for the moment.
"It means that he struck me first, and I intend to get even with him if I fight till Lake Champlain dries up," blustered Walk, as he clinched his fists again; and doubtless he had a clear idea of his father's views on the subject of pugilism.
"He struck first! You did quite right, my son. Never take a blow from any one," added the major.
"But he insulted my sister, sir! He had seized hold of her, and held her when I hit him, sir," pleaded Paul with proper deference; and he felt that he had a good defence.
"A fight begins with the first blow, and we needn't ask what happened before it was struck. You admit that you struck the first blow, Bristol?" continued Major Billcord, sitting in judgment on the case.
"I did strike the first blow, sir; and a fellow that wouldn't hit hard when his sister was insulted, and held as a prisoner, don't amount to much," Paul replied rather warmly.
"You struck the first blow; and that's all I want to hear about it," added the major sharply. "My son has done quite right to resent a blow with another blow; and if he is not satisfied with the punishment he has given you, you vagabond, I will stand by and see fair play till he is satisfied."
Mr. Walker did not quite approve the ground taken by his father, and wanted him to do something more than stand by and see fair play. But the major had spoken, and the son realized that he had nothing to do but to take the broad hint the patriarch had given him. Clinching his fists again, he rushed upon Paul for the third time. Paul was indignant at the decision of the magnate, and felt as though he had been commanded by the great man to permit his son to insult his sister.
Walk rushed upon him, but Paul's back was up for the first time since he had relieved his sister from the grasp of her assailant. His paws were not velvet: they were all fangs. At the first onslaught of Walk, that young gentleman went over on his back with the blood gushing from his nostrils. Twice more he renewed the attack, with about the same result.
Mr. Walker was so full of wrath that he could no longer control himself, and he laid hold of the stick again. Paul picked up the oar once more. The son of toil knocked the stick out of the hands of his opponent, and it flew into the lake. Walk could not find another, and Paul dropped the oar. It was naked fists again, with the same effect as before.
By this time Major Billcord was as full of wrath as his son, and without regard to fair play, of which he stood as champion, he rushed to the assistance of his defeated son. Paul picked up the oar and retreated before the two.
"Stop a moment, if you please, Major Billcord," shouted Paul. "I don't want to hit you sir, and I won't if I can help it."
"But I am going to flog you within an inch of your life!" yelled the major.
Paul had gone as far as he could without retreating into the cottage, and he was unwilling to carry the battle into the presence of his mother and sister. He halted; the major wrenched the oar from his grasp. He struck the son of toil with it. Paul's blood was up; he gave the magnate a blow between the eyes, under which he went down. Walk "pitched in" again, and was planted by the side of his father.