"We'll see!" chuckled the wretch.
With that he reached out for Dick, who was standing his ground. Just then a lithe figure shot in between the boys and their promised assailant.
"Stand back, you hound!" ordered the newcomer angrily. "This is a matter for men. You and I will attend to each other!"
"Old Dut!" breathed Dick Prescott in the intensity of his astonishment.
"Yes, it's I," announced the principal of the Central Grammar coolly. "This is more in my line."
Mr. Fits had been pushed back from the spot by the energetic fist of Mr. E. Dutton Jones. But now the brute came back, cautiously, crouching and leering.
"Who are you, anyway!" demanded Mr. Fits.
"Oh, I'm one of the town's schoolmasters," replied Old Dut dryly. "As for you, I imagine you're that doubtful celebrity, Mr. Fits—otherwise a thief."
"Get out of this!" warned the rascal darkly. "This is no place for schoolmasters."
"On the contrary," retorted Old Dut, as coolly as before, "this is just the proper place for me, for I've appointed myself to teach you a lesson, my man. Throw off your overcoat, I don't want to take you unfairly."