you like, and worship him.
You all make me sick!"

He walked away, followed hastily by Rackliff. At the corner above the
square Herbert overtook Phil, who seemed surprised as he came up.

"Oh, say," chuckled the city youth, "you did bore it into him fine!
And he didn't dare put a hand on you, either. That was queer, for, my
word! he's strong as Sandow. He handled me as easy as if I wasn't out
of knickerbockers."

"Paugh!" said Phil. "Anybody could do that. You've sus-sucked
cigarettes until you haven't as much strength as a sick kitten."

"Oh, I don't know about that," retorted Rackliff resentfully. "I guess
I'm about as strong as the average fellow; but I tell you he's a holy
terror--a perfect Hercules. I thought every minute he'd open on you.
I don't see why he didn't, for you rubbed it in to the limit."

"He didn't dare, that's the reason why," declared Springer. "I've got
him sized up now; he's the kind that strikes when the other chap isn't
lul-looking."

"I guess you're right. I called him a bluffer, too. It was first rate
of you to step in and take my part."

"I didn't do it on your account."

"No?"

"Not at all. I was itching for an excuse to get at him, and you
provided one, that's all."

Herbert was somewhat taken aback by this frank confession.

"Well," he said slowly, "anyhow, you showed him up to that bunch of
lickspittles. They were surprised."

"I fuf-fancy so. This whole town has got the notion that Rod Grant is
simply it. They thought he would fight at the drop of the hat."

"What would you have done if he'd taken you up?"

"Whipped him," answered Phil confidently. "I've taken boxing lessons.
What does he know about scientific fighting? I had made up my mum-mind
to take care that it was a regular fight by rounds, with seconds and a
referee to see fair play. I'd certainly fixed him that way, all right."

Still, to his annoyance, Rackliff seemed doubtful. "Perhaps you would,
but if he'd ever got in one wallop----"

"Oh, you make me tut-tired!" exclaimed Springer.

"Well, even if you didn't butt in on my account, I'm much obliged, just
the same. You're all right, Spring, old fel, and if I can do you a
good turn I will. Perhaps I'll have the chance. Gee! I want a whiff.
Have a smoke?"

"No," declined Phil. "I'm going home. Good night."

He left Herbert there, lighting a cigarette and coughing hollowly.

CHAPTER XXIII.

HOOKER BREAKS WITH RACKLIFF.