"Tell me what you did."
"I punched Larry, tripped his friend, and--well, I don't
exactly know all that did happen," answered Phil without a change
of expression.
"Knock them down?"
"I--I guess so."
"H-m-m. I suppose you know both those fellows are pretty bad
medicine, don't you?"
"I may have heard something of the sort."
"Larry has quite a reputation as a fighter."
"Yes, sir."
"And you knocked him out?"
"Something like that," answered Phil meekly.
"Show me how you did it?" demanded Mr. Sparling, rising and
standing before the culprit.
"It was like this, you see," began Phil, exhibiting a sudden
interest in the inquiry. "I was chased by the two men.
Suddenly I stopped and let the fellow, Larry, fall over me.
During the scrimmage I tripped Bad Eye. I didn't hit anyone
until Larry crowded me so I had to do so in order to save myself,
or else run away."
"Why didn't you run, young man?"
"I--I didn't like to do that, you know."
Mr. Sparling nodded his head.
"How did you hit him?"
"He made a pass at me like this," and the lad lifted
Mr. Sparling's hand over his shoulder. "I came up under his
guard with a short arm jolt like this."
"Well, what next?"
"That was about all there was to it.
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