“Help!” he bawled out, “take him away, you fellows! He’s not fighting fair.”
“Don’t be a cry baby,” was all the consolation he got from his friends. “Give it to him hard.”
Thus counseled, Jared made one last effort to triumph over Rob. He suddenly disengaged himself and jumped to his feet. Rob was up as quick as the other and met Jared’s last rush calmly. Jared, by this time, had lost his head utterly. He waved his arms wildly in a whirlwind of blows that Rob contented himself by ducking and dodging. He had no wish to punish Jared any more severely.
Suddenly the battle came to an abrupt termination, and that through no effort of Rob’s. It had rained the week before, and back of the grandstand was a depression in which water had gathered in sufficient quantity to form a small pond.
His wild evolutions had brought Jared close to the edge of this miniature lake. The ground there was muddy and slippery, and, before he knew what had happened, Jared’s feet slipped from under him. He staggered, clutching at the air to save himself; but although his friends rushed forward to help him, they were too late. With a mighty splash the luckless Jared toppled backward into the pond.
He was helped out, a truly pitiable object; but even his friends could not help laughing at him. Plastered with mud and streaming with water, his enraged countenance excited nothing but mirth.
“Come on,” said Max Ramsay as soon as he could for laughing, “we’ll get you to the buggy, Jared, and you can drive out home. Good thing you won’t have to go through the village.”
“Shake hands, Jared,” exclaimed Rob impulsively, for the moment forgetting what they had overheard at the barn, in his sympathy for Jared’s plight.
He extended his hand, but Jared dashed it furiously aside.
“I’ll get even with you, you—you tin soldier!” he shouted, shaking with rage, and also with the chill of his immersion.