“Paul Eldredge is all I know of it.”
“That’ll do. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Joe picked up his cap and made for the door. “Nothing like knowing what you’re up against,” he said. “Sit tight, Brother, and leave this to me. If I was you I’d do a bit of studying, eh?”
Myron followed the advice. Just at first it was hard to get his mind on lessons, for his thoughts kept recurring to the coming encounter and when they did he squirmed uneasily in his chair and felt a kind of tingling sensation at the end of his spine. On the football field Myron had often taken blows and given them in the excitement of the game. He had had some hard knocks and had seen plenty of rough playing. He couldn’t remember ever having been afraid of an opponent, although he had more than once entered a contest with the knowledge that the enemy was “laying for him.” But, somehow, this was different. What resentment he had felt against Paul Eldredge had passed, and so even the spur of anger was lacking. He would have to stand up there tomorrow morning and be knocked around at Eldredge’s pleasure, it seemed, for no very good reason that he could think of. It was rather silly, when you came to consider it calmly. Eldredge had been rude to him, he had been rude to Eldredge, Eldredge had struck him, he had struck Eldredge. Now when things were nicely evened up he must take a licking! Well, he supposed there was no way out of it short of acting like a coward. He would have to take what was coming to him, getting off as easily as he could, and try to like it! Well, he had taken punishment before and could again. Having reached that conclusion, he managed to get his thoughts back to his studies and was going very well when Joe returned.
[CHAPTER XI]
MYRON MISSES AN ENGAGEMENT
“Well, I’ve got his number,” announced Joe, discarding his cap and dropping into a chair. “He’s a scrapper. He’s had three or four mix-ups since he has been here, usually, as near as I can make out, with fellows who didn’t know much fighting. He’s got a quick temper and is ugly when he’s started. He’s a second class fellow and plays hockey and baseball. Had a fuss with the baseball coach last spring and was laid off for awhile. Apologised and got back again finally. I didn’t hear any one say he was liked much. The main thing, though, is that he can scrap. Keith says he’s quite a foxy youth with his fists; says he thinks he’s taken lessons. So now we know where we are, eh?”
“Yes, it seems so,” answered Myron. “Well, there’s no use talking about it, is there? Did you find out where this brickyard is?”
“Yeah, it’s just across the street at the far side of the campus, back from the road a bit. I’ve been thinking, Foster. There’s no sense in you going up against a fellow who knows how to fight, is there?”
“No, but it doesn’t seem to be a question of sense,” replied Myron, smiling.