Parmenter was at a white heat.
“Let go of him!” he cried. “Don’t lay a finger on him! I’ll see him home. You’ve about killed him already!”
Meanwhile Charley was leaning against a gatepost, staring stupidly from one to the other.
“Take the drunken fool, and welcome!” cried Van Loan, turning away in a passion. The words were hardly out of his mouth before Parmenter shouted, “Put up your hands, you brute. Defend yourself if you can. I’m going to thrash you!”
“You—you!” screamed Van Loan, striking a pugilistic attitude.
But he was no match for Parmenter, whose fist shot out next moment, struck Van Loan squarely on the jaw, and sent him sprawling in the dust of the road.
At that moment Tutor Delavan came up. He knew intuitively what it all meant.
“Here, Parmenter,” he said, “let’s get Charley into the house as quickly as possible. You support him on that side, I will on this. If ever a man was justified in knocking another down, you were.”
They straightened the drunken man up, and started with him along the college walk toward his father’s residence, not stopping to answer the questions nor satisfy the curiosity of those whom they met.
Poor Lee had fallen suddenly into a sort of stupor. His face grew pallid and his eyes glassy. His chin dropped. He no longer tried to speak, and his feet dragged so heavily that he had almost to be carried.