The Chums of Scranton High: Or, Hugh Morgan's Uphill FightFerguson, Donald
General
The Chums of Scranton High: Or, Hugh Morgan's Uphill Fight
Ferguson, Donald
Baseball -- Juvenile fiction; High school students -- Juvenile fiction
"All right, then," said Hugh, stepping back, for he had been standing
over the fallen boy in a threatening attitude, like a Roman gladiator
who had thrown his rival, and was waiting to see what signal the
emperor gave so as to decide the vanquished man's fate.
He took one look around at Leon and those two other fellows. They
quailed before his fierce glance.
"If any of the rest of you feel like having a try with me while I'm in
the humor, now's your chance! Don't all speak at once, please," said
Hugh, grimly.
When they saw him take a step in their direction, they shrank back.
Although not averse to having a little entertainment of the sort at
times, none of them seemed to particularly fancy being made a scapegoat.
"We're satisfied, Hugh," said Leon, hurriedly. "Nick got trimmed neat
and good. It's been coming to him for a long time, I guess."
There is a saying to the effect that "rats desert a sinking ship"; and
when Nick's hour for defeat arrived, even these hitherto admiring
cronies threatened to turn their backs on him.
Aroused by this taunt, he scrambled to his feet. Nick was a sight
indeed with his face bloody, and one of his eyes giving evidence of
going into mourning. He snarled something at Leon with a degree of his
one-time ferocity, and the other turned back to assist him off the
field. Nick stopped to look back. He made no threat, but the
malevolence in that stare toward Hugh told better than words would have
done what bitterness was in his heart. No town bully is dethroned
without his hating the object of his humiliation. Hugh had better be
on his guard, for every one knew that Nick Lang would never rest until
he had at least tried to even up the score.
Hugh calmly put on his garments again. Thad and the others were
voicing their admiration for his recent gallant deed, but somehow their
praise seemed to grate on the boy's nerves.
"Please don't keep on saying those things, fellows," he begged them,
presently. "I know you mean it in kindness, but I'd rather try and
forget this unpleasant business. I had to break a promise tonight, and
it hurts ten times worse than any of the few cracks Nick got in at me.
But then my mother always told me she would not for worlds have me
stand by and see a bully injure one weaker than himself. I just had to
do it, that's all there is to it. And, Owen, old chap, I'm mighty glad
I happened to be around to give you a helping hand."
Owen Dugdale had watched all this exciting happening with varied
emotions. Each time his detested oppressor had gone crashing to the
earth, he seemed to feel his own injuries less and less. When the
fight was over, and Nick had received such a decided thrashing, Owen
felt like dancing around. He was a boy, every inch of him, with all a
boy's feelings; and Nick had humiliated him dreadfully, as well as
taken a mean advantage over him on account of his superior strength.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account