“Huh!” Jimmy viewed his chum gloomily. “I don’t see what use it is then to go to all that trouble to learn to fight if—if you aren’t going to make use of—of your knowledge. That’s an economical waste, Dud. And waste is sinful.”
“It isn’t a waste,” said Dud. “It’s a good thing to know how to defend yourself. Besides, that boxing business has put my arm back in shape for pitching. It feels great nowadays. Just feel of that muscle, Jimmy.”
“Not bad,” decided the other, grudgingly. Then, more brightly: “Say, you ought to be able to hand Star a peach of a wallop with that, Dud! Well, all we can do is hope for the best. We don’t want to fight, but if we have to——”
“We?” queried Dud. “I don’t see where you come into it! You’re always talking about ‘we’ fighting Star Meyer, but it’s me——”
“I,” said Jimmy sweetly.
“It’s I, then, who would have to do it. If you want Star licked so plaguey much why don’t you do it yourself?”
Jimmy considered a moment. “Well, say, that isn’t a bad idea,” he replied at last. “Someone ought to do it, that’s sure! If you’re quite certain you don’t mind——”
“I’m dead sure,” said Dud emphatically.
“Then maybe——” Jimmy felt of his arm muscles. “I’ll think it over,” he concluded thoughtfully.