Clif and Tom had not found the game much to their liking and were rather disgruntled when they left the stand with some three score of their schoolmates. So, when a loud-mouthed youth carrying a green megaphone and wearing a funny green-and-white skullcap forced himself on Tom’s attention, Tom edged out of the throng and sought adventure. Although the Greenville partisan was a hunk of a boy and was well surrounded by friends, Tom displayed no hesitation. He walked up to the youth, seized the inadequate visor of his funny cap and pulled it down on his nose, stepped on his toe and said: “Is that _so_?” in a truly insulting manner. Clif and Jack Cooper reached their compatriot the next instant and strove to lead him back into the crowd, but Tom wouldn’t budge. Greenville congregated rapidly. Innocent non-partisans were shoved and elbowed. In a moment Tom, Clif and Jack were hemmed in very solidly. Acrimonious debate began. The youth in the skullcap was outraged and said so loudly. Clif and Jack ingratiatingly apologized for Tom’s hasty behavior, and Tom promptly declined to be apologized for. The enemy said something extremely uncomplimentary to Tom and accompanied it with a quick blow which, intended for Tom’s head, landed on his neck. After that events were very confusing. Clif found himself wedged against a painfully sharp plank, connected in some minor capacity with the grandstand, while a large, burly youth threatened him with a vague but awful fate if he didn’t keep still. “You keep out of it,” advised the big fellow. “Let your friend get what’s coming to him.” He grinned widely and appeared to bear no malice. Between the heads and over the shoulders of boys in front of him Clif could catch momentary glimpses of Tom and his adversary exchanging earnest blows. A few feet away Jack Cooper was trying hard to plow through the ring of observers, whether to take part in the fight or merely to secure an unimpeded view Clif couldn’t tell. Farther away Clif saw the crowd become denser every moment. Cries of “Fight! Fight!” arose, and the efforts of those on the outside to get nearer were now seriously incommoding the battlers. “Keep back!” shouted the fortunate possessors of ring-side positions. “Don’t crowd! Give ’em room!” Clif had a brief vision of Tom, smiling grimly, taking a wallop on one ear. Then, quite as if by magic, Tom disappeared and a roar of applause told the story. Clif struggled forward, now but half-heartedly restrained by the burly youth, and found himself able to see over a shoulder. Tom was getting up from the ground very slowly, very cautiously, his head guarded, and Clif sighed vastly with relief. The Greenville champion showed wear, but was evidently all for seeing it through. Tom was on his feet again, had rushed. There were sounds of blows. Clif couldn’t see for a moment. Then he did see. The two were clinched, both raining ineffectual blows. A man, doubtless a self-constituted referee, forced them apart. Tom retreated.