OLD HORNBECK’S PICTURE
Tim met Bobby half way, and they grappled. The other boys closed in around them.
“Pound him good, Bobby!” advised Palmer excitedly. “The sneak! Kicking a player like that!”
“Sit on his head,” squeaked Bertrand in a funny little voice excitement always gave him. “Sit on his head, the big coward!”
Bobby did not even hear these. He was hitting wherever he could, and grunting like a small pig as Tim rained blows upon him. Tim was so much older and stronger that all the advantage was on his side. Charlie Black was hovering around the outside of the circle, not daring to say anything for Tim, but hoping his chum would win.
“Hornbeck!” suddenly cried Charlie in wild alarm. “Hey, fellows, here comes old Hornbeck. If he catches us–––”
Charlie never finished his sentence, but took 103 to his heels, followed by the rest of the boys. Only Tim and Bobby, rolling over and over on the ground, had not heard the warning.
“Quit this this instant, I tell you!” roared a hard voice, and some one grasped Bobby by his collar, jerking him to his feet. “Fighting like two wildcats! What do you mean by such performances on the school grounds?”
It was Mr. Hornbeck, and he had Bobby in one hand and Tim in the other, and as he spoke he shook each boy violently.
“What do you call it you’re doing?” he roared again.