o the other boys.
'Keep together; and if the wharf-rats come out, we'll
give 'em beans!'

The band of Grammar School boys gained the Flat, and
struck out for the bridge which crossed the river and led
to the suburb in which lay their homes.

All went quietly till they were well out in the open
space, and then the wharf-rats set up a tremendous yell
and darted from their ambush. A furious battle was
started at once on the Flat. Stones flew like hail on
both sides, and then the combatants came to close
quarters, and the fray developed into a series of stand-up
fights, with every boy yelling like mad.

'Slug 'em! slug 'em, Skinner's 'Ole!' howled the wharf-rats.
'Out 'em! Down 'em, Skinner's 'Ole!'

'Rally, School!' shouted Dick Elliott.

'Drive 'em into the river!' bellowed Arthur Graydon.
The latter was fighting with a couple of heavy books
buckled tightly into a long, stout strap, and he fetched a
couple of his opponents down with swinging blows.
Suddenly he was confronted with the rival chieftain, the
redoubtable Chippy. Arthur swung his books at Chippy's
head, but the latter was far too quick for so slowly
delivered a stroke, and was inside his opponent's guard in
a flash. Chippy's dirty fist was planted with stinging
force in Arthur's right eye, and Arthur went over like a
ninepin.

At the next instant Chippy and Dick Elliott were face
to face, and Chippy, who was very handy with his fists
found, for the first time, a foeman to be reckoned with.
They had a sharp rally; then they closed, and Dick, who
was a capital wrestler, threw his man with ease. Down
went Chippy, and saw ten thousand and one stars, for
the back of his head was brought up hard against the
flags of the quay.

But while he was all abroad, half a dozen of his followers
swarmed over Dick Elliott, and made the latter prisoner.
The rest of the Grammar School boys had been driven off,
but Dick was a captive.

'We've copped one!' roared a big red-haired lad. 'I'll
tell yer what we'll do wi' him. Let's roll him i' the
sludge!'

His comrades shouted joyful assent, and Dick, fighting
like a tiger, but helpless in the hands of the wharf-rats,
was dragged towards the river, where his captors intended
to roll him in the deep mud left by the ebbing tide.

The band, with their struggling victim in their midst,
were close upon the river before Chippy got to his feet,
his head still singing from that shrewd crack.

'Wot's the game?' sa