“You've been in a scrap,” declared Worry.
“I know it,” said Ken. “Let me go up and wash.”
Worry had planted himself at the foot of the stairway in front of Ken. The boys stood silent and aghast. Suddenly there came thumps upon the stairs, and Raymond appeared, jumping down three steps at a time. He dodged under Worry's arm and plunged at Ken to hold him with both hands.
“Ken! You're all bloody!” he exclaimed, in great excitement. “He didn't lick you? Say he didn't! He's got to fight me, too! You're all bunged up!”
“Wait till you see him!” muttered Ken.
“A-huh!” said Worry. “Been scrappin' with Graves! What for?”
“It's a personal matter,” replied Ken.
“Come, no monkey-biz with me,” said the coach, sharply. “Out with it!”
There was a moment's silence.
“Mr. Arthurs, it's my fault,” burst out Raymond, flushed and eager. “Ken was fighting on my account.”