“Yes, I know all that,” said Corkey minimus, “and it’ll be rather rotten for her if he kills me. But the thing’s got to be done, and the sooner it’s over the better.” Then I suddenly remembered Bray’s message, and told Corkey. He seemed surprised. “He can’t lick me on the spot if I challenge him to fight in a regular way, can he?” he asked, but rather doubtfully. I said it seemed to me he couldn’t. Then we went up to the “gym,” where Bray was talking to about four chaps, including Fowle. “Oh, you’ve come, you kid, have you? You’d better not keep me waiting another time when I send for you,” he began. “Now I’m going to lick you for cheek.” “What cheek?” Corkey minimus said. “Fowle heard you say I was as fiery as my hair.” “Oh, Fowle, he hears a lot, I know.” “Did you say it or didn’t you?” “Yes, I did, and I say it again; and you’re a dirty bully too.” Bray came quite close to Corkey minimus, and put his face so near that their noses were almost touching, like cats do when they’re going to have a row on a wall. “Say that just once more if it isn’t troubling you too much,” said Bray. “I’ll say it as often as you like,” answered young Corkey, keeping his eye on Bray’s, “and I’ll say another thing too, which is, that before you talk so big about me being a ‘kid’ and licking me, you’d better find out first if I give you ‘best.’” “Golly!” said Bray, grinning like mad, “don’t you?” “No, I don’t; and I’ll fight you properly with seconds the first minute we can.” Corkey minimus had certainly come out of it fine so far, and I only wished he could fight as well as he talked. Of course, from Bray’s point of view, it was the best thing that could have happened, because now he had a right to lick Corkey, and a right to lick him as badly as he could. The bell rang a minute afterwards, and going in it was settled the fight should come off next Wednesday, that being a half-holiday. Part of Merivale Woods skirted the cricket-field, and as the second eleven, to which Bray belonged, wasn’t playing a match, everything suited very comfortably. Blanchard, the cock of the school, agreed to umpire, and he and another chap in the Fifth very kindly promised to carry young Corkey home by a secluded way if he was too much smashed to walk. Fowle seconded Bray, and I saw Bray teaching him how to fan with a towel and spurt water over a fellow’s face between the rounds. Of course, it was about as good fun as killing rats with a stick for Bray. III