It was Len Spencer, “star” reporter of “The Blade,” who had thus interfered.  And now Dave Darrin was dancing in front of Heathcote Drayne, ordering: 

“Let go of Prescott!  What sort of fair play is this?”

“Mind your own business!” ordered Mr. Drayne.  “I’m stopping a fight.”

Not an instant did impulsive Darrin waste in arguing the matter.  He landed his fist just under Heathcote Drayne’s left eye, causing that Heathcote to let go of Dick in a hurry.

“You young scoundrel!” glared Mr. Drayne, glaring at Dave.

“Opinions may differ as to who the scoundrel is,” retorted Dave unconcernedly.  “My own notions of fair play are against holding one of the parties in a fight so that the other may hammer him.”

“I’ll have you arrested for this assault,” stormed Mr. Drayne, applying a handkerchief to the bruised spot under his eye.  “Both you and Prescott—–­your ruffian friend for assaulting my son.

“Go ahead and do it,” retorted Dave.  “As it happens, your son did all the assaulting, and Prescott, who didn’t care about fighting with such a thing, only defended himself.  We saw it all from across the street, but we didn’t come across to interfere until we had to.”

“I’ll take some of your impudence out of you in the police court,” insisted Mr. Drayne.

“Yes, I would, if I were you,” broke in Len Spencer coolly.  “I saw this whole business, too, and I’ll take pleasure in testifying against you both.  Mr. Drayne, you didn’t see the start of this thing, and I did.  But you, at least, know that your son is a moral leper kicked out of the High School because he was not decent enough to associate with the other students.  I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets some of his bad qualities from you, sir”

“You’ll sing a different tune in court,” asserted Heathcote Drayne heatedly.

“So will you,” laughed Len Spencer.  “By the way, I see a policeman down the street.  If you want to prefer a charge, Mr. Drayne, I’ll blow my police whistle and bring the officer here.”

Spencer took a whistle from his pocket, moving it toward his lips.

“Do you want the officer!” challenged the reporter.

But Mr. Drayne began to see the matter in a somewhat different light.  He knew much about the nature of his son, and here were two witnesses against him.  Besides, one was a trusted staff writer for the local paper, and the whole affair was likely to result in a disagreeable publicity.

“I’ll think this all over before I act,” returned Mr. Drayne stiffly, as he took his son by one arm.  “Come along, Phin.”

As the Draynes moved away each held a handkerchief to his face.

“I don’t think much of fighting, and I don’t like to do it,” muttered Darrin, who was beginning to cool down.  “But if Heathcote Drayne had had to do more fighting when he was younger he might have known how to train that cub of his to be more of a man.”