Part 6

"I don't care," said Joel wrathfully. "I wish she would come. Jenk has got my racket. He saw me with it before I ran to math; and now it's gone." All eyes turned to Jenkins.

"Is that so?" A half-dozen hands pushed him into the centre of the group. "Then you've got to give him fits, Pepper."

"I'm going to," announced Joel, pushing up his sleeves higher yet, "until he tells where it is. Come on, Jenk." He tossed his head like a young lion, and squared off.

"I haven't your old racket," declared Jenk, a white line beginning to come around his mouth. It wasn't pleasant to see his reckoning quite so near.

"Then you know where it is," declared Joel.

"And give it to the beggar," cried several of the boys, with whom Jenkins was by no means a favorite.

"Give it to him worse than you did last term, Joe," called some one on the edge of the circle closing around the two.

"I'm going to," nodded Joel, every nerve in his body tingling to begin. "Come on, Jenk, if you won't tell where you've put my racket."

"He's afraid," said the boy who had advised the more severe pommelling, "old 'fraid-cat!"

Jenkins, his knees knocking together miserably, but with a wild rage in his heart at these words, struck out blindly to meet Joel's sturdy little fists, and to find his Waterloo.

In the midst of the din and confusion that this encounter produced, steps that could never by any possibility be mistaken for those of a schoolboy struck upon their ears.

The circle of spectators flew wide, and before Joel and Jenkins realized what was coming, a good two dozen hands were laid on their collars, and they were dragged apart, and hauled into separate rooms, the rest of the boys scattering successfully. Tom Beresford fled with the rest, and the long hall was cleared.

"Boys!" the voice of the matron, Mrs. Fox, rang down the deserted, long hall, as she looked up from the stairway. "Humph! they are quiet enough now." She gave a restful sigh, and went down again. Jones and his colic were just so much extra on a terribly busy day.

"What did you fellows touch me for?" roared Joel, lifting a bloody nose. In his own room, Jenkins was in that state that recognizes any interruption as a blessing.

"Old Fox would have caught you, if we hadn't rushed you both," cried the boys.

Tom Beresford worked his way up to say close to Joel's ear, "Don't speak, get into your room; I'll tell you where it is," then melted off to the outer circle of boys.

Joel looked up, gave a little nod, then broke away from the boys, and dashed to Jenkins' door.

"See here,"--he flung the words out,--"you've got to finish sometime when Mrs. Fox isn't round."

Jenkins, who was under the impression that he had had quite enough, was made to say, "All right;" something in the boys' faces making it seem imperative that he should do so.

Quite pleased, Joel withdrew as suddenly as he had come.

Meanwhile, up the stairs, two at a time, came Davie, singing at the memory of the special commendation given by his instructor in the recitation just over; and secretly David's heart bounded with a wild hope of taking home a prize in classics for Mamsie!

"Everything's just beautiful this term!" he hummed to himself. And then, in a breathing space he was in his room, and there, well drawn behind the door, was a boy with big eyes. "Hush" he warned.

"What's the matter?" asked David in astonishment, "and where's Joel?"

"Oh, don't speak his name; he's in disgrace. Oh, it's perfectly awful!" The boy huddled up in a heap, and tried to shut the door.

"Who?" cried David, not believing his ears.

"Joel--oh dear! it's perfectly awful!"

"Stop saying it's perfectly awful, Bates, and tell me what's the matter." Davie felt faintish, and sat down on the shoe-box.

Bates shut the door with a clap, and then came to stand over him, letting the whole information out with a rush.