"I couldn't take that off you, Phil," he said, a bit huskily, "if we hadn't been friends and I didn't realize that you sure would never say it in your right mind. I'm right sorry——"
"Oh, yes," scoffed Phil derisively, "you're sus-sorry you can't work me for a chump any more. You know what I think of you, and if you've got any real sand you'll pick it up. All I ask is a square show, and I'll give you the scrap of your life. You can't frighten me with your savage looks, and I've got my bub-blinkers on you so you can't catch me off my guard and hit me. That's the way you've won your reputation as a fuf-fighter around these parts. You've never faced anybody in a sus-square stand-up scrap, but you've grabbed and ch-choked fellows like Bunk Lander and Herbert Rackliff when they weren't expecting it. I know a little something about handling my dukes, and I'll bet I can lick you in less than tut-ten minutes."
"Perhaps you can," said Grant.
"Gee whiz!" spluttered Chipper Cooper. "What do you know about that, fellows?"
It was true that Grant had never engaged in a real fist fight since coming to Oakdale, but he had once stretched an enemy prone and stiff with a single sudden blow, and since the brave part he had played in rescuing Lela Barker from drowning Phil was the first to question his courage.
Herbert Rackliff, having recovered his breath and found sufficient strength to stand without assistance, was looking on and listening in the greatest satisfaction. "Soak him, Phil!" he whispered faintly. "Go for him!"
"Perhaps you're right," said Grant again, as Springer surveyed him with marked contempt. "Anyhow, I certain am not going to fight you."
Springer seemed genuinely disappointed. "I have a mind to punch you," he declared. "Perhaps you'd brace up then and show a little manhood."
Rod retreated a step, which added to the impression that he was afraid.
"You'll be sorry some time, old chap," he said, "just as I would be if I permitted you to lead me into a wretched fight. You don't understand——"