“Nothing? Well, I got it in time for the tournament. You saw to that. And when Jenk and I were having it out in the pine grove that night, Tom thought he better tell Dave; though I can't say I thank you for that,” brought up Joel regretfully, “for I was getting the best of Jenk.”
Old Mr. King had held himself well in check up to this point. “How did you know, Tom, my boy, that Joel and er—this—”
“Jenk,” furnished Joel.
“Yes—er—Jenk, were going to settle it that night?”
“Why, you see, sir,” Tom, in memory of the excitement and pride over Joel's prowess, so far recovered himself as to turn to answer, “Joel couldn't very well finish it there, for the dormitory got too hot for that sort of thing; although it would have been rare good sport for all the fellows to have seen Jenk flat, for he was always beating other chaps—I mean little ones, not half his size.”
“Oh dear me!” breathed Polly indignantly.
“Yes; well, Joe promised Jenk he would finish it some other time; and Jenk dared him, and taunted him after the tournament. He was wild with rage because Joel won; and he lost his head, or he would have let Joe alone.”
“I see,” exclaimed Grandpapa, his eyes shining. “Well, and so you sat up and watched the affair.”
“I couldn't go to bed, you know,” said Tom simply.
“And he would have saved us, Dave and me, if that Jenk hadn't locked the door on us when he slipped in.”