He only looked
from one to another of the wild young mob, searching for a friend; and,
finding none, he stood firm, defying them all. There was something
splendid in his bearing that sent a thrill of admiration down
Courtland's spine as he watched, his habitual half-cynical smile of
amusement still lying unconsciously about his lips, while a new respect
for the country student was being born in his heart.
Pat, with a half-lowering of his bullet head, and a twisting of his ugly
jaw, came a step nearer and spoke again, a low word with a rumble like
the menace of a bull or a storm about to break.
With a sudden unexpected movement Stephen's arm shot forth and struck
the fellow in the jaw, reeling him half across the room into the crowd.
With a snarl like a stung animal Pat recovered himself and rushed at
Stephen, hurling himself with a stream of oaths, and calling curses down
upon himself if he did not make Stephen utter worse before he was done
with him. Pat was the "man" who was in college for football. It took the
united efforts of his classmates, his frat., and the faculty to keep his
studies within decent hailing distance of eligibility for playing. He
came from a race of bullies whose culture was all in their fists.
Pat went straight for the throat of his victim. His fighting blood was
up and he was mad clear down to the bone. Nobody could give him a blow
like that in the presence of others and not suffer for it.
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