Radiating pride and self-assurance he strode across the room toward the knot of Epworth Leaguers in the far corner. But as he approached he felt an electric discharge of uncordiality which could mean but one thing. Bud Spillman, who was holding forth to his coterie of pretty girls and local scions, had been jeering at his expense. Peter was a farm boy and definitely an outsider. "My, my! Ain't you stylish!" said the erstwhile football hero, dressed for the occasion in Roman toga and laurel wreath. "Take that back or I'll give you a poke," warned Peter, forgetting that he stood on sacred ground. "All right, hayseed. You look like you was all dressed up for greasing trailers." "Come on out in back and I'll show you." "You might get your new pants all dirty," said Bud. The crowd sniggered. "What about your nightshirt?" "Don't get funny or I'll make you laugh out of the other side of your mouth." "I'll give you a leave," Peter said. "I wouldn't dirty my hands fighting a clodhopper. Go clean your cowbarns." "What about you?" Peter said. "Your old man runs a livery stable." "Kick in his box car," the boys shouted to Bud, "poke him in the breadbasket." "Anybody busted in your new shoes?" Bud asked, stamping on one of Peter's toes and spitting on the crushed leather. Unwanted tears were welling up in Peter's eyes but his voice was brave and scornful. "I dare you. I double-dare you. You yellow Brailsford Junction smart Aleck!" Then a minor miracle occurred. Maxine Larabee squealed, "Punch him in the nose, Peter. Knock his block off." That was all the encouragement Peter needed. Dumbfounded but deliriously happy and filled with a soul-satisfying desire to beat Bud Spillman to a pulp he waded into the big fellow while the girls scattered screeching to view the fight from piano-top or chair, and the boys formed a yelling circle about the young battlers. "Knock him for a gool ... cave in his shanty ... kick him in the belly," advised Bud Spillman's supporters. They also suggested that he beat Peter's ears off, flatten his beezer and knock all his teeth down his throat. Forgetting the fact that they were in the presence of ladies and the Methodist Deity, these same young Christians remembered and used effectively all the forbidden four-letter Anglo-Saxon words. More agile than his big opponent, lighter on his feet and faster with his punches, Peter slipped in and out with sharp slashing blows which bruised and cut the big football player but did not stop him. Bud's haymakers seldom connected, but when they did they carried the weight of a pile driver behind them.