d
large is hate."

Bill pondered this and turned to his work, but dropped his tools in a
moment, explaining to Tony that there were other figures they must have
for calculating the strength of the battery and he would go back and
tell Gus.

Bill reached the basement stairs, and in an alcove, alone, as though
seeking to hide, was the fellow Luigi. He turned sharply, facing Bill
and glaring in evident resentment at the latter's broad, curious stare.
Then the Sicilian spoke:

"Well, you see me. I it is, freshman. Stare at me some more as if I were
something to step on and I will give you more reason to stare."

"What's the matter with you, you, you--" demanded Bill, stopping short
and much incensed.

"Ah! Wop? Guinea? Dago? Sphagett--so I am insulta--is it? And by a
short-leg!"

"I'd rather have short legs than short brain."

"I like you so well I smash you in the face!"

Suiting the action to the word Luigi advanced upon Bill, who turned and
swung his crutch menacingly.

What then would have occurred it is impossible to surmise, for the
crippled boy was handy with the familiar implement that so readily could
be used as a weapon, though the Italian was sturdier, heavier and much
older--in fact, although small, he was almost a man.

But just at the moment there was a quick, descending footfall on the
stair and the door opened. Gus, with wide eyes, stared at the near and
unequal combatants.

"Hold on!" said the big fellow, glaring. The Italian hesitated, though
but for a moment. "You wouldn't really hit a fellow who is lame, would
you?"

"Ah, get away! Go off!" snarled Malatesta, attempting to thrust Gus
aside as the strapping youth stepped in front of him. But the thrust was
futile and then Luigi, growing furious, struck at Gus a powerful blow.
The fellow was muscular and quick, but there was no thought behind the
blow. And there was in contrast a smile on the face of the easy,
athletic American.

The Italian's fist was clutched by a ready hand, much as a baseball
would have been caught, and then a very differently directed fist shot
out and came in contact with Luigi's upper stomach--he got that
generally final solar plexus blow. Luigi gave a soft, aching grunt and
sank to his knees, then to his elbows and rolled over on his side, in a
half-minute more sitting up and gazing around, but still in pain. He was
again alone.

CHAPTER XII