The morning after the events just related, as Ralph was on his way to school, he fell in with Willie Davenport, or “Whistler,” as he was often sportively called, by his playmates, in allusion to his fondness for a species of music to which most boys are more or less addicted.  And I may as well say here, that he was a very good whistler, and came honestly by the title by which he was distinguished among his fellows.  His quick ear caught all the new and popular melodies of the day, before they became threadbare, which gave his whistling an air of freshness and novelty that few could rival.  It was to this circumstance—­the quality of his whistling, rather than the quantity—­that he was chiefly indebted for the name of Whistler.  Nor was he ashamed of his nickname, as he certainly had no need to be; for it was not applied to him in derision, but playfully and good-naturedly.

Whistler and Ralph were good friends.  There was a difference of between two and three years in their ages, Whistler being about twelve years old; but their dispositions harmonized together well, and quite a strong friendship had grown up between them.  A very different feeling, however, had for some time existed between Oscar and Whistler.  They were in the same class at school; but Whistler studied hard, and thus, though much younger than Oscar, he stood far before him as a scholar.  This awakened some feeling of resentment in Oscar, and he never let slip any opportunity for annoying or mortifying his more industrious and successful class-mate.

On their way to school, on the morning in question, Ralph told Whistler of Oscar’s threat, and advised him to avoid his brother as much as possible, for a day or two, until the affair of the blackboard should pass from his mind.  Whistler heeded this caution, and was careful not to put himself in the way of his enemy.  He succeeded in eluding him through the day, and was on his way home from school in the afternoon, when Oscar, who he thought had gone off in another direction, suddenly appeared at his side.

“You little tell-tale, you,” cried Oscar, “what did you tell Ralph about the blackboard for!  I ’ll learn you to mind your own business, next time, you mean, sneaking meddler.  Take that—­and that,” he continued, giving Whistler several hard blows with his fist.  The latter attempted to dodge the blows, but did not return them, for this he knew would only increase the anger of Oscar, who was so much his superior in size and strength, as well as in the art of fisticuffs, that he could do just about as he pleased with him.  The affray, however, was soon brought to an unexpected end, by a gentleman who happened to witness it.  Seizing Oscar by the collar of his jacket, he exclaimed: 

“Here, here, sir! what are you doing to that little fellow?  Don’t you know enough, you great lubber, to take a boy of your own size, if you want to fight?  Now run, my little man, and get out of his way,” continued the stranger, turning to Whistler, and still holding Oscar by the collar.