"Say your nose bled," returned Bobby. "If they ask you how it came to bleed, that's another question."
"Well, that's the question I'm afraid of."
"Wouldn't you tell on that Bill Bronson?"
"No. The other boys would say I snitched. I hate him, but I won't snitch on him," declared Fred.
"Maybe nobody will ask you. And Barry Gray will take your side."
"I don't want him to take my side," growled Fred. "He's a big fellow, too, and expects to be toadied to."
"You're making a mistake about him, I think," said Bobby, mildly. He knew it was no use to argue the matter with his chum.
They walked out across the campus to the railing that bordered the edge of the bluff. They were standing there looking across the beautiful lake, and talking, when there was a sudden scrimmage over on one of the tennis courts.
"Hello! a fight!" exclaimed Fred, with lively interest.
"Pshaw!" said Bobby, with some disgust. "You're always looking for a fight!"