Then a pile-driver smote the ambitious Sophomore squarely on the chin. He dropped to the floor like a log. A whole constellation of stars rainbowed from his brain. It was a full minute before his senses returned and his eyes could focus upon anything but a blur. Then he saw Harold Lamb, panting, and with fists still clenched, standing menacingly over him.
Having delivered the blow, Harold was for an instant frightened at the havoc his fist had wrought. He thought he had severely hurt Dan. He was relieved to see the Sophomoric eyes open again. Harold stood, an arm protectingly around the trembling shoulders of Peggy, ready to leap to the fray again if Dan threatened. But the Sophomore was all out of physical fight for that evening. Harold's blow had drained the energy out of him.
But as Sheldon struggled to his feet, his face was livid with rage. To be thwarted, to be knocked down by "Speedy" of all people. "Speedy" the rube, the butt, the goat. Dan lost all his suaveness, his pretense of friendship for the Freshman. His real wasplike nature asserted itself with a rush. His lips were set in an ugly line. He glared malignantly out of misty eyes at Peggy and Harold as the red welt on his chin slowly spread.
"Just for that, you little fool," hurled Dan
