The school closed in around them and watched the fight with the stolid indifference of savages or children, which is much the same thing. Big Tom Steadman dealt his cruel sledge-hammer blows on Bud, on his face, head, neck, while Bud, bleeding, but far from beaten, fought like a cornered badger. The boys did not cheer; it was too serious a business for noisy shouting, and besides, the teacher might be aroused any minute, and stop the fight, which would be a great disappointment, for every boy and girl, big and little, wanted to see Tom Steadman get what was coming to him.
Bud was slighter but quicker, and fought with more skill. Big Tom could hit a knockout blow, but there his tactics ended. He knew only the one way of dealing with an antagonist, and so, when one of his eyes suddenly closed up and his nose began to bleed, he began to realize that he had made a big mistake in hitting Libby Anne when Bud Perkins was there. With a clever underarm hold, Bud clinched with him, and he fell heavily.
Libby Anne, limping painfully, put her "shinny" stick into Bud's hand.
"Sock it to him now, Bud," she said, "now you've got him."
Bud dropped the stick and tried to laugh, but his mouth would not work right.
"Get up, Tom," Bud said. "I won't hit you when you're down. Stand up and let me at you again."
Tom swore threateningly, but showed no disposition to get up.
"I guess he's had enough," Bud said. "He's sorry he hit you now,
Libby Anne. He sees now that it's a dirty shame to hit a little girl.
He never thought much about it before. Come away, kids, and let him
think."
When school was called, the whole story of the fight came out.
Tom Steadman was the only son of one of the trustees—the trustee, indeed, the one who lived in the biggest house, was councillor of the municipality, owned a threshing-machine, boarded the teacher, and made political speeches—and so Bud's offence was not a slight one.