“We didn’t either!” began Freeman, indignantly; but the big fellow who was holding him gave him a shake and told him to “hush up,” while Crawford repeated loudly and distinctly, “It’s a lie!”
A crowd quickly gathered about the group. There was a moment of silence, while all waited to see what Clark would do. His face was very white and his hands were clenched, but still looking straight into Crawford’s angry eyes, he answered steadily, “You can believe me or not, as you like. I have told you the truth.”
“You’re a sneak, a coward and a telltale! Take that!” said Crawford, in reply, and as he spoke he struck Clark across the mouth.
Clark’s eyes fairly blazed then. He took one step forward, and grasped Crawford’s wrists with a grip that made him wince and draw back, but the next instant Clark released him and turned away, saying, “I would not lower myself enough to fight with you.”
“Ha, ha! Coward—coward! You’re afraid, and try to sneak out of it that way,” called Crawford loudly; and more than one voice joined in the cry, and shouted, “Coward! Coward!” as Clark walked swiftly through the hall and up the stairs to his seat. Little Freeman followed him, but as he glanced at his friend’s white, set face, he dared not speak to him, and slipping into his own seat, he opened a book, and pretended to be studying. In another moment, the bell summoned the boys from the playground. Those of section D, as they returned to their seats, cast curious or scornful glances at Clark, but he never raised his eyes to look at one of them, and when school was dismissed he was the first to leave the room, not waiting even for little Freeman, who was his devoted admirer, and counted it a great honor, as well as pleasure, to walk home with him.
Freeman was feeling very badly about the affair. He considered himself to blame for it all, and he longed to tell Clark how sorry he was, but he knew instinctively that his friend could not bear to talk of it then; so he did not attempt to overtake him, but walked slowly on alone, so deep in thought that he did not notice quick footsteps behind him, till his cap was suddenly snatched off and flung into a mud-puddle, while Crawford’s loud, rough voice exclaimed, “Now, little telltale, you’ve got to take your punishment. I told you I’d pay you out, and I meant it.”
“But I didn’t do anything to you,” protested Freeman, shrinking from the other’s rough grasp.
“Didn’t do anything to me!” echoed Crawford harshly. “It was all your fault. That fool of a Clark was standing up for you, wasn’t he?”
“But—” began Freeman.
“You hush up! We’ve had chin enough from you,” interrupted Crawford, and while three or four of his cronies stood by laughing and jeering, he seized the little fellow, who was five years younger than himself, and nothing like his size, and rolled him over and over in the puddle, where he had already thrown his cap. It had rained heavily the night before, and there was water enough to soak Freeman’s clothing pretty thoroughly. Not content with this, Crawford rubbed mud over the lad’s face and hands, and tried to force it into his mouth before he released him.