Ralph was not a particle in doubt as to the ultimate result of the "scrap." He had gone through a half-vacation course of splendid athletic training, and his muscles were as hard as iron. Not so cigarette-smoking, loose-jointed Ike Slump.
"That for that sand trick!" announced Ike. "And that's for dodging that waste ball."
So sure was Ike of landing on Ralph's nose with one fist, that he supplemented his first announcement with the second one as his other fist circled to take Ralph on the side of the head.
Ralph did not dodge. He inwardly laughed at Ike's clumsy tactics. With one hand he warded off both blows, drew back his free fist, and let it drive.
"Ugh!" said Ike Slump.
As Ralph's knotty knuckles took him under the chin, there was a snap, a whirl, and Ike Slump keeled clear off his balance and sat down on the ground.
It was done so quickly and so neatly that Ike's cohorts were too astonished to move.
"Get up—go for him!" directed the biggest boy in the gang.
"I can't!" bellowed Ike, spitting out a tooth—"he's cracked my jaw. He had a spike in his hand!"
