His shout and the dull thump of his fall aroused other inmates of the cabin who had not already wakened in time to witness the onslaught.
“Help! Murder!” yelled a scout of the patrol.
“Shut up!” another boy said, laughing, as he sprang from his bunk. “What’s going on here, anyway?”
“Not hurt, are you, old man?” inquired Hugh, a trifle anxiously, for he seldom cared to perpetrate practical jokes. “I didn’t mean to——”
No response from Billy. He lay where he had fallen, with one arm outstretched, the other pillowing his head. His face was covered by a limp hand, but between his fingers he slyly peeped out, and his twinkling eyes sought the serious face of Hugh, who was bending over him.
“Billy’s done for!” said the lad who had tickled him. “Let’s put him to bed, chief, for he will be happier there.”
Ignoring this facetious suggestion, Hugh bent still lower; he even dropped upon one knee, and put his hands on Billy’s shoulder.
“Wake up, son!” he urged, smiling and giving his chum a gentle shake. “First round is over, and in ten seconds you will be counted out.”
This was the chance for which Billy had been waiting. Now he saw that Hugh was completely off his guard. Suddenly his free hand shot out, grasped Hugh’s ankle from behind, gave it a strong push—and the next instant Hugh measured his length on the floor. Before Hugh could fully realize what had happened to upset his equilibrium, Billy gathered up his own sprawling limbs, and hurled himself upon his fallen leader.
“Down and out, am I?” he gurgled. “Who said so? Come on, we’ll——”