“The odds wouldn’t be as bad as you’re proposing to take out of this poor little freshman with the crippled hand,” insisted Thompson.  “So get ready to meet me.  I’ll allow one of my hands to be tied, if you want.”

Yet even this proposition couldn’t be made alluring to Fred Ripley.  He knew Thompson’s mettle and strength too well for that.

Dan Dalzell, another freshman, had been standing back, keeping quiet as long as he could.

“See here,” proposed Dan, stepping forward, “isn’t a freshman allowed to say something when his friend is insulted?”

“Go ahead,” nodded Thompson, who knew Dan to be one of young Prescott’s close friends.

“Dick isn’t in shape to fight, and I know it,” continued Dan Dalzell, hotly.  “But Ripley wants something easy, like a freshman, so he can have me!”

“And me,” cried Tom Reade, also leaping forward.

“He can have one with me, too,” offered Harry Hazelton.

“Same here,” added Greg Holmes and Dave Darrin.

All five of the speakers were freshmen, and close chums of Dick Prescott’s.

“Say, what do you think I want—–­to fight a whole pack?” demanded Ripley, hoarsely.

“Oh, you don’t have to fight us all at once,” retorted Dave Darrin.  “But you’ve insulted our friend, and you’ve taken a sneaking advantage of him at a time when you knew he couldn’t handle anyone as big as you are.  So, Ripley, you’re answerable to Prescott’s friends.  I’ll tell you what you can do.  There are five of us.  You can take any one of us that you prefer for the first bout.  When you’ve thrashed him, you can call for the next, and so on.  But you’ve got to go through the five of us in turn.  If you don’t, I’ll call you a coward from now on.  You’re bigger than any of us.”

“See here, Cub Darrin,” raged Ripley, starting forward, his face aflame, “I don’t allow any freshman to talk that way to me.  I won’t fight you, but I’ll chastise you, and you can protect yourself if you know how.”

He made a bound forward, intent on hitting Darrin, who stood his ground unflinchingly.  But Thompson seized the third classman by the shoulder and shoved him back.

“Now, stop this, Ripley, and you freshmen, cut it out, too,” warned the athletic first classman.  “This is descending to a low level.  We don’t want a lot of bickering or mouth-fighting, and we don’t intend to have anything but fair play, either.”

“As this is largely my affair,” broke in Dick Prescott, who had had time to cool down a bit, “let me have a chance to make an offer.”

“Go ahead,” nodded Thompson.

“Then,” proposed Dick, “since you won’t let me fight today, why can’t this meeting hold over until my hand is in shape?  Then I’ll agree to give Ripley all he wants.”

“That’s the only sensible thing I’ve heard said in five minutes,” declared Frank Thompson, looking about him at other upper classmen.  “Is it the general opinion that the fight hold over for a few days, or, say, a fortnight?”