"Porter has the best of you, Nick."
If ever a boy was mad that boy was Nick Jasniff. Half blinded from the blow in the eye he rolled over and got up on his knees. Then he leaped to his feet and ran to the wall of the gymnasium.
"I'll fix you! I'll fix you!" he snarled, and pulled from its resting place a wooden Indian club weighing at least three pounds. "You shan't crow over Nick Jasniff, not much!"
"Hold up, what are you going to do?" cried Ben, who stood near.
"I'm going to smash his head for him!" answered Jasniff, and before anybody could stop him he made a dash for where Dave was standing. He swung the Indian club around so recklessly that the crowd parted right and left to let him pass.
Dave saw him approach and for the moment hardly knew what to do. He had not dreamed of such unfair play. It was easy to see that Jasniff was in a frame of mind fit for any foul deed.
"Don't!" he cried, as the half-crazed lad leaped before him. "Stop, I tell you!" And then as the Indian club was swung over his head, he leaped to one side and caught the other boy around the waist with both arms. "Drop that club, you brute!"
"Drop the club! Drop the club!" came from all sides, and in a twinkling Ben and Shadow leaped in and wrenched the Indian club from Jasniff's grasp.
"What an outrage!"
"Jasniff, you ought to be lynched for that!"