It was bad judgment, but punishment had stung him into desperate recklessness.
"Stop it!" panted the high school boy.
"Won't!" retorted Mosher, increasing his pressure about the smaller boy's waist until Prescott felt dizzy.

In that extremity the Gridley boy worked a neat little trip.

Down they went, rolling over and over, fighting like wild cats until Mosher secured the upper hand and sat heavily on the high school boy.
"I gave you all the chance I could," growled Mosher, planting blow after blow on Dick's head, face and chest, "and you wouldn't help yourself anyway.

Now, you'll take all your medicine, and next time you meet me you'll know enough to leave me alone." Held as he was, without really a show, Dick Prescott fought as long as he could, and with desperate courage.

But at last he felt forced to yell: "Fellows! Gridley! Here---quickly!" "They're too far away, and, besides, they're asleep," jeered Mosher, to the accompaniment of three more hard blows.