“Are you pretty good with your fists?” Monroe asked.
“I have no special reason to think so,” David answered. “But I guess I can hit as hard as he can.”
“If you’re not much on boxing, you’ll have to stand up to him and take what you get until you can put in enough good cracks to finish him.” Monroe spoke with a certain satisfaction in the prospect of a sanguinary encounter. He was a freckled-faced, red-haired, snub-nosed boy; his blue eyes were sparkling and snapping with expectancy.
“I’m not worrying much,” David answered. “He may lick me or I may lick him, but either way I guess he will regret having brought it on himself. And that’s the main thing.”
“Sure,” said Monroe. “But lick him.”
They parted at the door of the study. Monroe assured David that he would meet him there at a little before half-past three o’clock.
When David finally emerged, he found Monroe waiting outside and Wallace again passing a ball with the rector’s daughter.
“I’ve got to stop now, Ruth; I have a date,” Wallace said.
She put the ball into the pocket of her leather coat and drew off her glove. Then she greeted David with a nod and a smile.