“I suppose,” said Hector, coolly, “he has decided to accept my invitation, and come to see me.”

“You’ll find he has,” said Wilkins, significantly.

“He seems to have considerable company,” remarked Hector, scanning the approaching party with tranquillity.

“They’re coming to see the fun!” said Wilkins.

“I suppose you mean the fight between Jim Smith and myself.”

“Well, not exactly.  They’ve come to see you thrashed.”

Hector smiled.

“Suppose they should see Jim thrashed instead—­what then?”

“They might be surprised:  but I don’t think they will be,” answered Wilkins, dryly.  He was, on the whole, well disposed toward Hector, and he certainly disliked Jim heartily, but he did not allow his judgment to be swayed by his preferences, and he could foresee but one issue to the impending conflict.  There was one thing that puzzled him exceedingly, and that was Hector’s coolness on the brink of a severe thrashing, such as Jim was sure to give him for his daring defiance and disregard of his authority.

“You’re a queer boy, Hector,” he said.  “You don’t seem in the least alarmed.”

“I am not in the least alarmed,” answered Hector.  “Why should I be?”

“You don’t mind being thrashed, then?”

“I might mind; but I don’t mean to be thrashed if I can help it.”

“But you can’t help it, you know.”

“Well, that will soon be decided.”

There was no time for any further conversation, for Jim and his followers were close at hand.

Jim opened the campaign by calling Hector to account.

“Look here, you new boy,” he said, “didn’t Bates tell you that I wanted to see you?”

“Yes,” answered Hector, looking up, indifferently.

“Well, why didn’t you come to me at once, hey?”

“Because I didn’t choose to.  I sent word if you wished to see me, to come where I was.”

“What do you mean by such impudence, hey?”

“I mean this, Jim Smith, that you have no authority over me and never will have.  I have not been here long, but I have been here long enough to find out that you are a cowardly bully and ruffian.  How all these boys can give in to you, I can’t understand.”

Jim Smith almost foamed at the mouth with rage.

“You’ll pay for this,” he howled, pulling off his coat, in furious haste.

CHAPTER XIII.

Who shall be Victor?

Hector was not slow to accept the challenge conveyed by his antagonist’s action.  He, too, sprang to his feet, flung off his coat, and stood facing the bully.