What happened then was performed so quickly that Dick was nearly as surprised as Sandy. Sandy was prone on the grass well beyond the edge of the walk, his companion was a dozen yards away in flight and Dick was standing supreme on the first step at the entrance. Presumably Dick had pitched Sandy where he lay, but Dick had little recollection of having done so. Or of having regained the steps afterward. He had given way to a sudden and overmastering anger and had acted without conscious thought. Now, however, the anger was gone and in its place was a wholesome amusement. “Better get off the grass, Halden,” he volunteered cheerfully. “That’s just been seeded there.” Halden got off, but he didn’t resent the attack. Instead, he brushed himself silently and unnecessarily, avoiding a glance at Dick until he straightened up again. Then with a look so malevolent that Dick wondered at it, he said in a low voice that shook with passion: “All right, Bates! That settles you!” Dick laughed, but not with much amusement. Somehow, the threat conveyed in the other’s tone precluded amusement, even though, as Dick reasoned a moment later, Halden had no power to harm him. Sandy turned and rejoined his waiting but discreet companion and went his way without further notice of his assailant. Dick, already ashamed of his fit of temper, went on upstairs. Fortunately, perhaps, none had seen the swift incident, and he was very glad of it. He didn’t say anything about it to Stanley although that youth was doubled up on the window-seat reading. Dick had heard a good many gibes, generally good-natured, about his “heroism” and athletic fame, for the story of the happening at the movie house Saturday night had swiftly gone the rounds of the school, and had shown no resentment until Sandy Halden’s taunt. He had meant to keep his temper under any provocation, for the best way to banish ridicule is to laugh at it, but Sandy had somehow managed to touch him on the raw. Perhaps had he been less tired and less sore he would have treated Sandy’s taunt with the same smiling insouciance with which he had accepted others. For some undefined reason the incident bothered him all the rest of the evening, even during the blackboard lecture in the Trophy Room when his thoughts ought to have been given entirely to Coach Driscoll’s expositions. Afterwards he viewed that uneasiness as a premonition. It was at eleven on Thursday that the blow fell. A hurry call led him from a Latin recitation to Coach Driscoll in the gymnasium office. The coach looked unusually solemn, Dick thought, as he pushed open the door and entered. Mr. Tasser, the physical director, was there as well, but he went out immediately, leaving his room to the coach and Dick.