It was too great an insult for Allerton to brook. With doubled fists he advanced upon the eager, slender boy awaiting him. Don staggered under a heavy blow received full upon the chin, and then his own fist shot out and struck Allerton’s chest.
To his amazement it was “a knockdown.” Young Randolph’s feet slipped on the slimy crossing and he fell backward full length in the soft mud of the road.
With a roar of rage and chagrin he scrambled to his feet, and Don planted another blow that sent him to the mud again. It was not a hard blow, by any means. It seemed as though a mere touch was sufficient, for Allerton’s feet were now so covered with mud that he could scarcely stand upon them. A push from Don sufficed to upset him, and observing the ease of the operation Don repeated his blow each time that Allerton arose, laughing gleefully at the result of his own prowess. In the heat of the encounter, however, he neglected to keep his own footing on the cleaner and safer portion of the boards, so that in one of Allerton’s falls his arm struck Don and sent him likewise sprawling in the sticky mud.
They sat up and looked at each other in bewilderment. Allerton had never been so astonished in his life as at his present misadventure, and now, as he saw one side of Don’s head plastered with mud, which filled an ear and an eye, he burst into a hearty laugh.
Don scraped the mud out of his eye, blinked at his antagonist, and laughed too.
“Guess honors are about even, Al,” he said. “I’ve had enough. Have you?”
“Plenty,” declared Allerton, making an effort to rise from the puddle. Don managed to find his feet after a severe struggle.
“My, but you’re a sight!” he exclaimed.
“So are you,” replied Allerton, cheerfully. “We both ought to be ashamed of ourselves.”
“I—I’m afraid Cousin Judith will scold.”