"Stop this fight!" yelled the same citizen. "Don't you do it!" warned another. "The boy is taking care of himself all right. Let him wind the bruiser up." Now Miller, smarting and fearing accidental defeat, forgot caution and tried to rush in for a clinch. But this was the kind of attack that Prescott was skilled in dodging. Dick gave ground before the furious assault, but he did so purposely. Back he went, step by step. "Miller's got him!" cheered the liquor seller's friends. At last Dick found what he wanted, the opportunity to drive in again on the big fellow's wind. Miller gave vent to another grunt, followed by a howl, as he felt a stinging fist land against his other eye. Now, Dick had his man blinded, ready for the finish. A high school fist landed on the side of the big fellow's throat, sending him to his knees. Dick took but half a step backward as he waited for the big fellow to get to his feet. The instant that Miller rose Dick darted in, landing his right fist with all his strength on the tip of the man's chin. This time the work was complete. Miller went down. Dick, smiling, though breathing quickly, stood over his fallen opponent, counting slowly to ten. Then, in a moment, those who had favored the boy's side in the fight realized just what had happened. Loud cheers arose from the crowd. Tom Drake was one of the first to dart in and seize young Prescott's right hand briefly before another man wanted to shake it. Dick was fairly made to run a gauntlet of handshaking. Most of Miller's "friends" retreated in sulky bad humor. Three of the liquor seller's followers, however, picked the big man up, staggering under his weight, and bore him behind the door that had closed on more than one man's career. "What do you think of that, Mr. Drake?" demanded Tom Reade jubilantly. "Do you put Dick Prescott in the milk-sop class?" CHAPTER XXI THE REVENGE TALK AT MILLER'S "Let's get out of this place," whispered Dick in Dave's ear as Darry helped him to staunch the flow of blood from his nose. "There, the bleeding has stopped," muttered Dave. "Now, put on your coat and button it up. Then the blood stains on your shirt won't show." Tom Drake had very little to say, but he kept close to Prescott. "Shall we walk down the road a bit, Mr. Drake?" asked Dick, as soon as he had his coat on. "I'm in a hurry to get home," nodded the young workman. "I shall know where I belong, after this. No more of Miller's for me! For that matter," the young man added, with a hearty laugh, "I don't believe Miller would ever let me in his place again. Of course, in his own mind, he will blame me for what happened to-night." "I hope he didn't get much of your money before it happened," murmured Prescott, as be and Drake, followed by Dave, Tom and Dan, got clear of the crowd and down into a quieter part of the road.