Slam!—the door closed in Ready’s face, and the key turned in the lock.
“Isn’t it sad!” sobbed the queer fellow to himself. “Just to think that a good man like Hodge should be thrashed by a fellow like Mason! Oh, me! oh, my!”
Then he sought Mason’s room, but Hock would not admit him at all.
Late that evening Mason escaped from his room and visited the little store of a man who “decorated black eyes.” There Hock had his eyes painted in a most artistic manner, and the next morning he did not wash his face when he rose from his bed, though he took a cold sponge bath and brushed and combed his hair.
In some manner Hodge had managed to hide traces of the conflict, and the two students put up a great bluff. This simply served to make every one all the more anxious to learn the particulars of the fight.
“It must have been a corker,” said Ready. “I feel that I have missed one of the greatest events of the century.”
Ready knew something about Bart’s fighting-abilities, and, for all of the talk he had made to Hodge, something convinced him that Hodge had come out the victor. Never, however, could he induce Hodge to confirm this belief.
After a time it became apparent to all that the two men must have agreed to say nothing about the result of the encounter, no matter what it was. Without doubt this agreement had been made before the engagement began.
Who whipped? That question remained unanswered to the end of time, for, true to any agreement they may have made, neither youth would speak of it. They would not even acknowledge that there had been a fight.