“He’s getting too fresh. He ought to be squelched!”
“I don’t want to be the one to do it. You don’t gain anything by scrapping with fellows like him.”
Sam’s evident unwillingness to be drawn was just the incentive needed to urge his assailant on. Runyon was one who could be bluffed or cowed, but not placated. Sam was by nature good-humored and patient, capable of holding out on a fixed course to the last gasp, but neither resentful nor pugnacious. When Collins informed Bruce that Archer was good material, but must get speed and fight into him before he could accomplish anything, the coach showed himself a shrewd judge of character, as well as an expert in the psychology of successful racers. As Archer sought to avoid him, Runyon’s conduct grew more offensive. Both were criticised severely by spectators of the performance, the one for not standing up for his rights, the other for acting like a hoodlum.
The crisis came one day early in December, when Runyon, having flung out an unsuccessful gibe in the dressing room, overtook Archer on the stairs and jostled roughly against him. Sam, at last exasperated, gave the bully a push with his shoulder that sent the intrepid challenger hard against the side wall. Runyon rebounded, and striking Archer a blow in the upper arm, squared himself for battle.
“Come on, if you want to fight!” he called derisively. “I didn’t believe you had sand enough.”
“I won’t fight here,” answered Archer.
“Ye won’t fight anywhere, I guess. You’re too much of a coward!”
By this time boys were gathering above and below, and staring at the brawlers with eager, grinning faces.
“Don’t stand his lip, Sam,” said Kendrick, pushing his way up the steps. “Knock the face off him!”
Runyon turned sharply toward the intruder. Whatever his intention, he suppressed it as soon as he recognized the stalwart football player. “He’ll knock the face off me, nit!” said the pugilist. “He won’t even give me a chance to get at him. Shorty Hartley’s about his class.”