“I’ll agree if he will,” was the answer, and the tall lad grinned cheerfully. “Who said I wanted to fight?” growled Pug Kennedy, as he saw several unfriendly looks cast in his direction, and noted the athletic build of Jerry Hopkins. “Well, you sort of acted that way,” commented Ned, who did not intend to give the bully the slightest advantage. “What did you want to hit Bob for?” and he nodded at his chum, who had finally succeeded in stopping his nose hemorrhage. “What’d he want to go and shove his hands into my pocket for, without asking me if he could?” demanded Pug, and it must be admitted that he really had right on his side. Bob had acted hastily, and perhaps indiscreetly, considering that he did not know the lad who had had the encounter with him. “I was only looking for my crullers,” Bob explained. “Some one took ’em for a joke, and when I saw the bag in your pocket I thought you had ’em.” “Well, why didn’t you say so?” growled Pug, who, in truth, looked something like the animal from which had come the nickname. “You didn’t give me a chance,” said Bob. “If you wanted to fight why didn’t you say so?” “Well, you mind your own business, and let me alone!” growled the belligerent one. “And you’d better let me up if you know what’s good for you!” he added fiercely to Ned. “Oh, I guess I know my business,” was the calm rejoinder. “At the same time I’m willing to let you up provided you promise to keep your hands off my friend. If you want to fight, as I said, that can be arranged.” “I won’t promise anything!” growled Pug. “Then you’ll sit there until you do,” observed Ned. There is no telling how long this deadlock might have kept up, but at this point Sergeant Mandell, who had been in the smoking car, came back to see how his recruits were getting on. He took in the scene at a glance. “Let him up, Slade,” he ordered Ned. “And you, Kennedy, keep quiet. Remember you’re soldiers now, and you must obey your superiors. For the time being I am your officer, though I want to be your friend, too. Now what’s the row?” It was explained in various ways, but all agreed that Kennedy had struck first, and with little provocation, for Bob’s action, though thoughtless, poking his hands into the pockets of another lad, had been innocent enough. “You had no right to hit him for that,” declared the sergeant. “But I am not saying that Baker did exactly right, either. Though it was natural for him to want his crullers.” With mutterings and growls, Pug Kennedy shook himself after Ned let him up, and slunk into his seat, away from the others. Ned, Bob, and Jerry went back to their places, and quiet was once more restored. “Bob, old man, I’m sorry,” said Ned. “It was my fault. I did take your crullers, but I haven’t ’em now. I passed ’em down the line as a joke. I’ll see if I can get ’em back.” “Let ’em go, I don’t want ’em,” growled Bob.