“We’ll fight this out,” he howled. “Cowardy!”
“Any time you like,” said Walter.
“Oh, no, no, Walter,” protested Faith. “Don’t fight him. I don’t mind what he says—I wouldn’t condescend to mind the like of him.”
“He insulted you and he insulted my mother,” said Walter, with the same deadly calm. “Tonight after school, Dan.”
“I’ve got to go right home from school to pick taters after the harrows, dad says,” answered Dan sulkily. “But to-morrow night’ll do.”
“All right—here to-morrow night,” agreed Walter.
“And I’ll smash your sissy-face for you,” promised Dan.
Walter shuddered—not so much from fear of the threat as from repulsion over the ugliness and vulgarity of it. But he held his head high and marched into school. Faith followed in a conflict of emotions. She hated to think of Walter fighting that little sneak, but oh, he had been splendid! And he was going to fight for her—Faith Meredith—to punish her insulter! Of course he would win—such eyes spelled victory.
Faith’s confidence in her champion had dimmed a little by evening, however. Walter had seemed so very quiet and dull the rest of the day in school.
“If it were only Jem,” she sighed to Una, as they sat on Hezekiah Pollock’s tombstone in the graveyard. “He is such a fighter—he could finish Dan off in no time. But Walter doesn’t know much about fighting.”