Jerry Utway was looking around the circle eagerly. The Utway brothers were never far away when a scrap arose; it would seem that they smelled the signs of battle from afar. “Gee, Jake!” he exclaimed, “the Van Horn fellow is going to tackle Brick! I’m going to be his second!”
“And I’ll be Brick’s second,” responded his twin. “Come on, men, form a ring here. Let’s have this scrap with regular rules. Al, you can be referee. It’s a good thing no leaders are around to stop it!”
Al Canning pulled out his watch. “Are you ready?”
“Just a minute more,” answered Jake. “Come on, Brick, strip off your shirt. Gosh, this will be a real fight—bare knuckles to the finish!”
Brick shook him aside. “Aw, I won’t need anything like that. It’ll take me just one good smack to finish this fight. He’s a coward.” But inwardly Brick was not so sure. Dirk Van Horn had said nothing since he had issued his amazing challenge. He had calmly prepared for the fray, and stood waiting quietly with no sign of fear on his set features. He did not cower in fright, or try to bolster up his courage with a string of biting words; and there was nothing amateurish about his pose as he stood with his clenched fists hanging loosely at his sides.
“I am ready,” he said in answer to a question from the eager Jerry.
“Good,” said Al. “When I say ‘Time!’, you can start. All set? Time!”
At the summons, Brick Ryan plunged forward over the grassy ground, fists doubled, head down, and struck a sweeping blow at his enemy. To his surprise, his flailing arm landed on thin air. Dirk had side-stepped easily, and still stood with his arms hanging loosely at his side, his face still calm.
Brick whirled about and spat. “Come on and fight, will you? None of this duckin’ like a snake. And you guys get back, so I can have some room.” He plunged again at his foe, and aimed a second wide swing at Dirk’s face.
This time Dirk did not dodge. Instead, he parried with the palm of his left hand, and his right fist shot forward, taking the surprised Brick in the side. It was a stinging blow, and Brick stepped back with a grunt. He had not expected this. There were few boys at Lenape who would dare to stand up against Brick Ryan even in a friendly bout with gloves; yet here was the despised Van Horn, the pampered city boy who couldn’t even swim, not only defending himself skillfully from the Irish lad’s attack, but even striking back!