"Never hit a man when he's down," quoth the dry voice of Greg Holmes. "But, if he isn't even any sort of a man, it doesn't matter!"
Thump! Greg brought his not very big fist down on Dexter's nose. It was an ugly blow, delivered before the bully could recover from his own amazement.
Dave Darrin, the other boy, did not even wait to speak. He began to rain down blows on the prostrate enemy.
"Here, stop that, Davey!" urged Dick, darting forward. "Don't hit the cur any more."
"But he was going to club you," argued Dave, hitting two more blows.
"Stop this, boys! Let up! I'll clear out," begged Ab. Dexter.
Dick, finding that neither of his chums was much inclined to stop the merited punishment, darted in and forcibly dragged Darrin off Dexter's prostrate form.
"Let me have him, for a minute or two yet," coaxed Greg Holmes. "You know, Dick, he was going to club you."
"I know it," rejoined young Prescott doggedly. "He did thrash me twice, and it hurt. I don't believe in soiling our hands on anything like this fellow, when it can be helped. Besides, we're too many."
Though Dave and Greg had now both been pulled off their prey, they hovered over Dexter, who seemed afraid to rise for fear it would lead to a renewed onslaught.