“Well, I have expected something like that,” cried Chet. “I didn’t believe Dick Merriwell would take his medicine without making some sort of an excuse. A lame side, eh? Well, that sounds first rate; but, if you fellows have noticed it, it is a fact that a pitcher who loses a game always has a lame shoulder, a lame arm, or a lame side to put the blame on after the game is over.”
Buckhart’s face grew dark as a thunder cloud. He confronted Chester, who continued to laugh in that aggravating manner.
“Look here, you,” said the Texan in a low tone; “do you mean to call me a liar?”
“Oh, not at all!” said Chet easily. “Of course Merriwell told you all about his lame side. I don’t doubt that a bit.”
“Then do you mean to say that my pard lied? Waugh! I’d swallow it a heap better if you called me a truth twister. Maybe Dick will swallow these yer things from you, but hang me if I do!”
The fury of the Texan burst forth in a twinkling, and he struck full and fair at Chester’s face; but Arlington ducked, and his cap was knocked from his head. Instantly the boys pressed between them and pushed them apart. They remonstrated with Brad, who for the time being seemed to have wholly lost control of himself.
Hal Darrell was one of those who seized Buckhart.
“Hold on there, old man!” hissed Hal in Brad’s ear. “I am the one who is laying for that fellow. I am the one to settle a score with him.”
At last the Texan was quieted and led away.
After this the boys knew that at any time there might come a clash between[between] Arlington and Darrell or between Arlington and Buckhart.