“For the love of mud!” exclaimed Ned. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone and had a fight!”
“I’m not going to,” responded Laurie briefly, sinking into a chair.
“Well, then what—”
“Shut up and I’ll tell you,” said Laurie crossly. “We were playing the scrubs, and Simpson had an exam and wasn’t there, and Pinky put me to catching for them. Elk came sprinting in from third on a little in-field hit, and I got the ball and blocked him easy. He was out a yard from the plate, and that made him mad; that and the fact that he’d made an ass of himself by trying to score, with only one out, on a hit to short-stop. So he jumped up and made a great howl about my having spiked him. Of course I hadn’t. All I had done was block him off when he tried to slide. Cooper told him to shut up, and he went off growling.”
“Well, how did you get—”
“I’m telling you, if you’ll let me! After practice I was walking back with Kewpie and Pat Browne, and just before we got to the fence across the road down there Elk came up and grabbed me by the arm and pulled me around. That made me mad, anyhow, and then he began calling me names and saying what he’d do if I wasn’t too little, and I swung for him. Missed him, dog-gone it! Then he handed me this and I got him on the neck and the others butted in. That’s all there was to it. How’s the silly thing look?”
“It looks punk,” answered Ned unsympathetically. “Better go down and bathe it in hot water and then put some talcum on it. Gosh, son, I should think you’d have more sense than to get in a brawl with Elk Thurston. That rough-neck stuff doesn’t get you anywhere and—”
“For the love of limes, shut up!” exclaimed Laurie. “I didn’t start it!”
“You didn’t? Didn’t you just say that you hit him first—or tried to?”