The boast was no sooner out than I got a smash on the mouth which set my lips trembling and drew a veil of mist across my eyes. This was followed instantly by a blow in each eye, and I saw light dancing in all directions. I could make no defence, and my assailant proceeded to punish me systematically. The little circle of savages were shouting, "Punch him, Carrots! Punch him, Carrots!" and I could have testified that Carrots was following their advice. I threw my arms about in the air and yelled with what breath I had left, but I did not run away; I stood and took it. That is one of the facts of my life which I like to remember, that although hopelessly outclassed in my first fight, I proved that, if I couldn't give a thrashing, I could take one.
How much I should ultimately have taken I don't know, for suddenly John Lane rushed into the circle like a young tornado. John was no more a fighter than I, but he was resourceful; he seized the bully by the knees and bore him to the ground, where they rolled about together. Enheartened by this sudden change of fortune I too pounced upon Carrots, kicking, punching, and gouging with the greatest enthusiasm. Had I been strong enough no doubt I would have killed him, regardless of his shrieks, "Two on one; no fair! no fair!"
For a moment or two I had one misgiving—would the supporters of Carrots now come to the rescue of their chief? I might have saved myself any worry on that account. They viewed the sudden change of Carrots' fortune with surprise, certainly, but also with complacency. Very soon they were shouting, "Punch him, New Boy! Punch him, New Boy!" and even seemed disposed to lend a hand. But John and I handled the case ourselves, ending in a tour of triumph in which we dragged Carrots feet-foremost around the complete square of the gravelly schoolyard.
As we walked home together John and I knew that, for good or ill, our lots were now inseparable. If Carrots caught either of us by himself he would be sure to take adequate revenge. And yet, even through my swollen eyes, I looked on the world with a new joy, and had a stride in my gait that I didn't have in the morning. My theology did not go far enough to advise me whether one went to Hell for fighting, so I consulted John on the point.
"Of course," he replied, laconically.
"Then we're in for it," I remarked.
"Uh-huh. But so is Carrots, and he got the worst of it here, too."
John's philosophy appealed to me. I was beginning to feel that I could stand what anybody else could stand. But my mother put a new aspect on the case.
"What you been doing?" she demanded as I entered the house. "Look at your new suit!"
Now it seemed to me that a boy who had just helped to whip the school bully, and who had two black eyes and a mouth swollen out of shape for his pains, had something more to think about than his new suit, so I retorted, "I been fighting. Look at my face!"