“Grab him!” raged Rusty as he found his balance and, crouching, faced Barry again. But he was wary, now. He liked a quarrel, but he hated punishment, and something in the attitude of the straight figure confronting him counseled caution. Barry, who had no love for fighting but could nevertheless fight when it was necessary, moved a step along the fence to free himself of Fessenden, now once more securely guarded. He had no uneasiness as to the others. They’d keep out of it. It would be just he and the big chap they called Rusty. The latter was silent now, and menacing. Barry watched and waited. Then his opponent rushed, closed. Barry fell back half a pace, threw his head to the right, and took a crashing blow on his elbow. Then he swung his right fist upward and felt the swift pain of the impact dart along his arm. There was a startled “_Ugh!_” from Rusty as he staggered away, and then: “Pretty work, old son,” applauded a voice, and a new actor in the drama stepped to Barry’s side, draped a hastily discarded coat over the fence, and faced the group. “Let’s make it a foursome,” said Crawford Jones, pleasantly. “Who else wants to play?” CHAPTER V FESSENDEN FIDDLES But it appeared that Jones had spoiled the party. Silence fell. Even Fessenden grew quiet. Then some one laughed awkwardly and the spell was broken. “Well,” said Jones, in mild astonishment, “what’s the difficulty? Let’s go. Any one will do; or any two.” “Where’s your license to butt in?” growled Rusty, nursing his jaw tenderly. “Why, hello! Is that you, Waterman? That was a nice one you stopped just now. They ought to have you on the nine, Rusty! Well, if the game’s over, Locke, let’s wander. Who’s this chap?” “He’s a pup,” answered Rusty, aggrievedly. “We were lugging him down to the pond when this fresh guy here came up and shot off his mouth. Said we mustn’t. I told him to beat it and then he wanted to fight. You’d think we were doing something we oughtn’t! Isn’t this Pup Night, Peaches?” “As ever was!” agreed Jones, heartily. “And if you fellows expect to see any of the fun, you’d better get a move on. It’s long after eight.” “Well, we’re going to take this brat with us,” said Rusty. But his tone lacked conviction. Jones shook his head. “Not to-night,” he said gently. “Fade away, Rusty.” “You’ve got a lot of gall,” began Rusty, blusteringly. “I’ll say he has,” agreed one of the others. “This isn’t any of your business, Jones.” “Is that,” Jones inquired amiably, “your considered opinion?” “Yes, it is, if you want to know.” Assurance, however, decreased perceptibly toward the end of the statement. “Well,” said Jones, “you look――or you would look if I could see you――like a fellow ready to back his opinions. How about it?”