Meanwhile, a little knot of men and boys had gathered out in front of the shop. It so happened that they were persons who would rather witness a fight than stop it, or it may have been that there were some of them who hoped that for once Dick Wheaton would get his deserts. At any rate, it was a real fight, with no quarter, and it would have been a cold-blooded person indeed who could not admire the pluck of Jimmie Rogers. His nose was bleeding and his breath came in sobbing gasps, but he kept at it with unabated fury. Three times Dick Wheaton threw him, and three times he jumped to his feet and went for Dick.
The fighting of boys is no more to be encouraged than the fighting of dogs, but there seem to be times in the affairs of boys as well as of men when nothing but fighting will serve. The only way to cure a bully is to thrash him, and if anyone ever had a justifiable motive for fighting it was Jimmie Rogers.
At length Dick's blows appeared to be growing weaker. Jimmie, unable often to reach his face, had been pummelling him consistently on the vulnerable spot at the lower end of the breastbone, regardless of the punishment he himself received, and these tactics were beginning to tell on Dick's wind. His lips were parted, his eyes staring, and his face took on a strange mottled look. He began to strike out weakly and to concern himself chiefly with parrying Jimmie's troublesome blows and protecting his stomach.
With lowered guard, Dick staggered uncertainly backward, and Jimmie, rushing in, dealt him a smashing blow on the mouth that sent him reeling. Tripping over the door stone of Mr. Fellowes's store, he fell heavily, and lay there, with his arm crooked over his face, awaiting he knew not what final coup de grace in an attitude of abject surrender.
Men rushed in now, but Jimmie was satisfied. He shook off their hands and walked, somewhat unsteadily, into the store, and Mr. Fellowes closed the door behind him. Someone picked Dick up.
"Well, I guess you've had enough," said this unsympathetic person.
Dick Wheaton slunk off home without replying.
Mr. Fellowes did not refer to the fight. He did not think it proper to praise Jimmie, for he did not believe in boys fighting, but he could not resist a feeling of proud satisfaction.
"Want to see the dog?" he asked.
"Yes," said Jimmie in a tremulous voice. He was almost crying with weariness and he was doing his best to wipe the blood off his face and brush the dust off his clothes.