Now Darrell, though disliking fistic encounters, was no coward and he promptly retaliated with a blow that knocked his enemy down.
“Wow! It’s a fight all right!” yelled another lad, and then Darrell and his antagonist were at it.
The crowd from the stands and bleachers now began thronging about the enraged players. There had always been more or less bad blood between the two rival nines and now, when the Resolutes had taken a game that was almost won away from the Silver Stars, the feeling broke out anew.
On all sides there were impromptu battles going on. Some of the lads were good-natured about it, and only indulged in wrestling contests, but others were striking viciously at each other and soon there were some bloody noses and blackened eyes in evidence.
“I’ll show you whether I can pitch or not!” yelled Sam, as he aimed a hard blow at the lad with whom he had first had an encounter. He missed his aim, and went whirling to one side, to be met by a blow as he turned about, and almost sent down.
“Do you want anything?” suddenly demanded a lad stopping in front of Joe, who was standing near Tom. Joe recognized his questioner as the Resolute shortstop.
“No, he’s a stranger here—he isn’t on the nine,” said Tom quickly.
“Well, can’t he fight?” was the sneering demand.
“Yes, if I want to, but I don’t want to,” and Joe answered for himself.