"Tell you what," declared Mosher, an instant later.
"Well ?" "Beat it!" "I don't under------" "Yes, you do," retorted the self-styled Mosher.

"Vamoose! Twenty-three in a hurry! Make your get-away!" "Until I've made you listen to reason," Prescott insisted, "I won't leave you." "Oh, yes, you will, and right now, or-----" "No!" "See here!" Mosher held a hard, horny fist menacing before Dick's face, but the high school boy failed to wince.
"Git! Now, or crawl later!" warned Mosher.
"I'm going to make you listen to-----" "Put up your guard!" At least Mosher was "square" enough to give warning of his intentions.
He threw himself on guard, then waited for perhaps five seconds.
"Are you going to cool down and listen!" demanded Dick Prescott firmly.
Out shot the Mosher youth's left fist.

Dick dodged.

It was a feint; Dick nearly stopped Mosher's right.
Blows rained in thickly now.

Not every one could Prescott dodge, though he was more agile and better trained than this more powerful youth.
At last, smarting from a glancing blow on the nose, Dick darted in and clinched with his adversary.