"Let go!" Badger shrieked, white with wrath, lunging with his hard right
fist.
It struck a student in the face and hurled him crashingly backward. But
the next moment the fist and arm were caught and held.
Then began a fierce struggle for the mastery. Time and again the
Westerner, whose strength was great, hurled off the men who sought to
hold him down. Twice he got on his feet, merely to be tripped and thrown
again. Not until he was almost beaten and choked into insensibility were
his assailants able to rip open his vest.
Ordinarily, Badger wore a soft silk shirt which had no tab, but on this
night he had on a white shirt, whose tab was amputated by a dexterous
thrust as soon as the vest was pulled open. Then he was permitted to
rise to his feet, reeling, sick, blind with rage and humiliation and a
sense of baffled hate.
But his chief thought still was of Donald Pike.
"Which way did he go?" he panted, as soon as he could get his breath.
"Well, your High-Muchness, the cats scattered and the man made himself
scarce!" was the scoffing answer, given by the student who had felt the
terrible force of Badger's fist. "Perhaps there is another man up in the
elm who can tell you!"
Badger did not wait for further nagging, and, as no hands were now
extended to oppose him, he made as hasty an exit as he could from the
midst of the shouting, laughing, howling throng.
Pages:
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203