Bobby felt pretty badly. He did not want to see Fred fight at all. And he certainly did not want him to meet Sparrow Bangs in this way. A sparring match was one thing, but a fist fight, deliberately arranged, and held in secret, was an entirely different matter.
"You can't do it!" he said to Fred, greatly disturbed. "Dr. Raymond might send you home."
"I don't care if I'm sent home twice!" exclaimed the hotheaded Fred. "I am going to thrash that fellow, or he'll thrash me."
Bobby wanted to shake Fred—he could have hit his chum himself! And yet—he couldn't desert him. They had come here to this school, strangers. They had agreed to stand by each other, through thick and thin—of course without a word being said about it! Boys do not talk about their friendships like girls.
If Fred were wrong, Bobby could be angry with him, but he could not desert him. If his chum intended to fight Sparrow Bangs in this disgraceful way, Bobby would "second" him—of course he would!
If Dr. Raymond should hear of it and suspend them both from school, it could not be helped. He knew very well that he was running a risk of losing all chance for the Medal of Honor; yet he would stick to his chum.
He was unhappy that night—very, very unhappy. Fred and he said little when they were alone. Shiner came to him and whispered, at bedtime, that there would be a chance to "pull off" the fight the next noontime after dinner. They could cut the mid-day study hour to do it, without being caught.
Beyond his determination to stand by Fred, right or wrong, Bobby wanted his chum—as long as he would fight—to win! He advised him in the morning:
"Now, Fred, eat a good breakfast—a big breakfast. But you're going to go light on dinner."
"I know," grunted the red-haired one.