“What things?” asked Frank, coolly.
“About slicin’ the ropes of your brother’s hammock.”
“I said I thought you cut them—yes.”
“Well, if I did, what are you going to do about it?”
Frank’s answer was to strip off his middy blouse, an action followed by Hank. The others formed a ring about them, and soon the fight was on. It was scientific, in a way, until Frank, with a feint, caught Hank unawares, and landed a good blow on one eye.
Then Hank lost his head and struck out wildly. He lost control of himself, and Frank easily got through his guard, planting several effective blows.
“I—I’ll pay you for that!” spluttered Hank, as his lips swelled and one eye partly closed. He struck out wildly, and did manage to hit Frank on the face. It was a stinging blow, and hurt. But Frank knew he could not hope to come off scathless.
Then it was give and take for awhile, until Frank saw his chance, and aimed a sharp uppercut at Hank’s chin. It caught the bully squarely, and almost lifted him off his feet. He staggered back, and would have fallen had not one of his chums caught him.
“I—I’ve had enough!” he muttered.
“Don’t try to cut down any more hammocks,” said Frank, as he went to wash himself, for a scratch on his cheek was bleeding.