Chapter 7

A BOY FIGHT AT SCHOOL.

Lynch law--At bay--Bully Warburton--Single combat--The deciding round--Harry is victorious.

If Harry felt heavy-hearted when he started for home that afternoon, what must he have felt now? Deeper than ever he was plunged in the trouble from which he knew not how to extricate himself. His thoughts, however, soon flew to his mother. He knew that there he would find comfort, that there, at least, he would be believed. So carefully wiping away all traces of his tears, and putting on as brave a face as he could, he strapped his books together, and ran down the broad stone stairs into the lobby.

For some time, however, he could not find his cap. It did not need much reflection to tell him what this meant or foreboded. It was the beginning of persecution. But after rumaging about among the boxes kept in the lobby, his patience was at length rewarded. There, in a corner, was the missing cap; but torn and dirty and much injured. Nothing daunted, he cleaned it as well as he could, and, putting it on, emerged into the play-ground.

Just as he was fairly in the open, walking quickly towards the gates, and not looking about him, he heard a burst of voices that bore no pleasant meaning; and then a body of tennis-balls flew all round him--some hitting him smartly, some whizzing within an ace of him.

As soon as he had recovered from the first shock of his astonishment, stung and bruised, he looked to see who were his assailants, and there he saw about twenty boys, mostly of his own age and size, in fact, belonging to his form; though several of the crowd stood out from the rest, as older and bigger.

Harry's weakness was now turned to indignation.

"You beastly cowards!" he cried, "what have I done to you?"

"Thought to get the prize by cribbing, did you, you sneak?"

"I did not crib," shouted Harry, who had not stirred from where he was first hit by the balls.

"You little liar, you did. Give it him again," cried one of the bigger boys; and then another shower of balls fell thick about him.

"I'm not a liar. It's you're the liars, and the cowards too," he cried, coming nearer the crowd; and then the boys, too, crowded nearer to him.

"Do you mean to call me a liar? Do you mean to call me a coward?" cried one after the other--the bigger boys now being louder and more threatening in their tones.

"Yes, I do," answered Harry, "if you say I cribbed, when I didn't. And you are cowards to all set on one."

"Leave him to me," said Warburton, a tall, ungainly boy of fourteen, as boy after boy was eager to take the quarrel to himself. "I'll teach him. Now, you young brute," he cried, advancing to Harry. "Do you mean to call me a liar and a coward?"

"Yes, I do," persisted Harry, as Warburton came nearer, and shook his fist in his face. "It wasn't my crib; and you'd better not hit me!"

"Better not hit _you_," jeered Warburton; while the group echoed, "Better not hit him, indeed! Give him a good licking for his cheek, Warburton; I would if I were you!"

Warburton's jeer was very forced, but the voices of the rest gave him courage. So he rushed at Harry. The latter, however, seeing what to expect, threw away his books, and then flew at Warburton, who, from sheer astonishment at having actually to fight when he thought to administer an easy licking, began the combat at rather a disadvantage. Both hit very wildly at first, and not much damage was done. Of the two, Warburton was most out of breath, for he had been hitting furiously at Harry, who, not being strong enough to ward off the blows with his arms, had been forced to dodge and duck his head.

Presently they got into a corner close to the lobby-door, and Harry was beginning to flag. Not a word all this time had been uttered by the on-lookers. They would not back Harry; and to cheer on Warburton would be ridiculous. "Of course he would lick him all to pieces in a minute," they said.

But the minute had been a good long one, and all in their hearts were somewhat surprised. Just then Egerton came up; and Harry could scarcely believe his ears, when one voice alone came out of the crowd, cheering him on, and saying, "Go it, Campbell! Well fought! I'll back you, after all." And the voice was Egerton's.

At that moment Warburton was making a furious charge at him, when Harry stepped sharply aside, and gathering all his remaining force into one blow, hit his foe on the jaw: at the same instant Warburton slipped, and the blow and the false step terminated the fight, for he fell violently through the open lobby-door upon the stone floor.

"Well fought, Campbell! well fought!" cried Egerton.

No one else uttered a word.

Waiting till Warburton was on his feet again, his mouth bleeding, his face very crestfallen, Harry picked up his books, and shaking off Egerton's congratulations and friendly words, for he felt he was far more his enemy than Warburton, started home.

A good bathe in the lavatory set the mouth to rights; but Warburton was utterly cowed, and had learnt a lesson, which the rest had learnt too, that meek-hearted boys may bear a good deal of bullying, but that even to their endurance there is a certain limit.