But the battle would have ended disastrously for Merrow had not another Merle Hall boy, attracted by the shouts, put his head out of an upstairs window and seen what was going on. Now, there’s a fine spirit of camaraderie among the Preparatory Class. For one thing, the boys of that class all room together in Merle, and get to know each other thoroughly. And in the present case esprit de corps came to the rescue of Merrow. The boy at the window disappeared quickly, and a minute later the back of Merle was black with boys.
“Merle, this way! Merle, this way!” was the cry.
Thompson held out for a moment, and then, the target for dozens of snowballs, retreated toward Whitson. But the fellows in front of Dudley could remain neutral no longer.
“Rush the kids!” was the cry, and the battle was on. Five minutes later almost every fellow in school was ranged on one side of the Yard or the other. The new arrivals neither knew nor cared about the merits of the controversy. They simply joined whichever army was nearest. Alf and Tom and Dan, gathered in Number 7 Dudley, soon heard the noise of battle and joined the fray, Tom in his shirt-sleeves.
“What’s it all about?” asked Alf of another boy.
“I don’t know. Merle started it, they say. They’ve been fighting like little fiends, the kids have. Look out! Just missed you! Let’s rush ’em again!”
There were plenty of rushes in which the opposing sides, or the more valorous of them, met in the middle of the field of battle and fought at close quarters. Out there there was little time to make snowballs. One must simply scoop up snow and hurl it at his adversary, grapple with him, perhaps, and roll him over and “wash his face,” or stuff snow down his back and into his ears and mouth. It was hand-to-hand out there, and many brave deeds were done and many gallant rescues performed. One ate snow and breathed it and was blinded by it, and wallowed in it, and picked himself out of it gasping and shouting. Then, as though by mutual understanding, the opposing armies drew apart, still hurling snow and shouting defiance, to view their casualties and draw breath for a renewed attack.
Gerald, drawn from his room by the shouting and laughter, looked on for a minute, and then dodged around the Yard and joined the forces in front of Merle. The next moment he was rolling snowballs and firing with the best of them, the ardor of battle taking possession of him.
“Hello, Pennimore!” cried a voice at his ear. “Isn’t it fun? They tried to rush us three times, and we beat them back!”