At last, one night, unable to bear the strain longer, Lovely went to his room resolved to end it. He bided his opportunity, gazing with unseeing eyes at the pages of the divine Virgil. Finally he raised his head and said, abruptly: "Say, Lazelle, what do you think of our chances for the football championship?" "Fair, only fair," said the Gutter, glad for any excuse to stop studying. "The Davis and the Dickinson look better to me." "How long has it been since we won?" said Lovely, scarcely breathing. "Let me see," said the Gutter Pup, unsuspecting. "We won the fall I fought Legs Brownell behind the Davis house." "Lazelle," said Lovely, rising desperately, "I can lick you!" "What?" "I can lick you!" "Hello," said the Gutter Pup, considering him in amazement; "what does this mean?" "It means I can lick you," repeated Lovely doggedly, advancing and clenching his fists. "You want a fight?" "I do." "Why, bully for you!" The Gutter Pup considered, joyfully, with a glance at the clock. "It's too late now to pull it off. We'll let it go until to-morrow night. Besides, you'll be in better condition then, and you can watch your food, which is important. I'll notify Hickey. You don't mind fighting by lamplight?" "Huh!" "Of course, we'll fight under the auspices of the Sporting Club, with a ring and sponges and that sort of thing," said the Gutter Pup cheerfully. "You'll like it. It's a secret organisation and it's a great honour to belong. Hickey, at the Dickinson, got it up. He's president, and referees. I'm the official timekeeper, but that don't matter. They'll arrange for seconds and all that sort of thing, and Doc Macnooder is always there for medical assistance. You're sure the lights won't bother you?" "No." "It's a queer effect, though. First time I fought Snapper Bell----" "Lazelle," said Lovely, choking with rage, "I can lick you, right now--here--and I don't believe you ever licked anyone in your life!" "Look here, freshman," said the Gutter Pup, at once on his dignity; "I've stood enough of your impertinence. You'll do just as I say, and you'll act like a gentleman and a sport and not like a member of the Seventy-second Street gang. We'll fight like sportsmen, to-morrow, at midnight, under the auspices of the Sporting Club, in the baseball cage, and until then I'll dispense with your conversation! Do you hear me?" Lovely Mead felt the justice of the reproof. Yes, he _had_ acted like a member of the Seventy-second Street gang! He glanced up at the photograph (slightly spotted) of John L., and he thought of Ivanhoe and the Three Musketeers, and Sir Nigel of the White Company, and presently he said, tentatively: "I say----" No answer. "Lazelle----" Still no answer. "Say, I want to--to apologise. You're right about the Seventy-second Street gang. I'm sorry." "All right," said the Gutter Pup, not quite appeased. "I'm glad you apologised." "But we fight to-morrow--to the end--to the limit!" "You're on!"