“Were the fellows nice?” asked Dan doubtfully.
“Nice? Of course they were, most of them. Still, I guess we had all sorts at the Academy. There was ‘Slugger’ Boyd and ‘Brick’ Garrison and ‘Fatty’ Thomas and—and others like them that maybe you wouldn’t just call ‘nice.’ ‘Brick’ got his nickname because of a way he had of grabbing up a brick or a stone when it came to a fight. No one cared to fight ‘Brick’ except in the barn where there weren’t any loose stones lying around handy.”
“Did you have a nickname, too?” Dan asked.
“Yes, they used to call me ‘Kicker.’ You know we didn’t have any special rules to fight by; every fellow just went at it the handiest way. I was a good kicker; used to jab out with my fist and kick at the same time. I won lots of fights that way, for some fellows can stand any amount of punching on the head or body and quit right away when you get a good one on their shins.”
“We wouldn’t call that fair fighting nowadays,” said Dan uneasily.
“No? Well, fashions change. It was good scientific fighting when I went to school,” answered Mr. Vinton smilingly.
“Well, I think your folks must have been crazy to let you go to such a place,” said Mrs. Vinton irascibly. “Fighting all the time and living on almost nothing and sleeping on corn-husks and walking twelve miles to get home and nearly freezing to death!”
“Oh, I only came near freezing once,” responded Mr. Vinton pleasantly. “But that was a close shave. I guess if Farmer Hutchins hadn’t come along just when he did that time—”
“I don’t want to hear about it again!” declared Dan’s mother. “If that’s your idea of having a good time it isn’t mine! And you can just believe that no son of mine ever goes to boarding-school!”