“Just this,” had been Rob’s reply, “that I think you are a pretty bad loser.”
“Oh, you do, eh? Well, I’m a better man than you—so take that!”
Smack!
The infuriated lad had actually allowed his temper to carry his judgment away so utterly as to strike his conqueror in the face.
The other boys in the place had stood about, fairly gasping. What would Rob do? To their astonishment, he did nothing. While an angry, crimson mark grew upon his cheek where the blow had fallen, his countenance was calm and composed. But he caught Hunt’s hand in a grip of iron.
“Look here, Hunt,” he said quietly enough, but every word rang home with sledge-hammer force, “you were beaten to-day. Worse, still, you can’t take it like a man. To cap the climax, you have struck me. Don’t—do—it—again.”
The last words came slowly, but they made Hunt flinch. Even Harding, who had been inclined to urge his crony on, held his breath. Would Rob strike Freeman? That question was soon answered. Rob released the angry boy’s wrists, and let him go. Muttering angrily, Hunt had slunk off to a locker.
“Why didn’t you have it out with him?” Dale asked him later, after Rob and the others had dressed and gone.
“Too many of his crowd around,” Hunt muttered in reply, “but I’ll fix him. You watch me. He’s not going to get away with anything like that.”
“I’m with you in anything you want to do,” Dale assured him.