the boatyard gateway.

As he faced the smiling submarine boy, young Melville was quick to
realize that he must cool down if he did not want to become a laughing
stock for the street crowd that was swiftly forming. Half a dozen
workmen employed in the yard had climbed up onto the fence.

"Mind you," said Jack, coolly, "I don't want to hurt you. You started
this, Melville."

The sheer coolness of this speech once more carried Don Melville out of
the bounds of reason. On the "gym" floor Don had studied the art of
boxing well, but he had not learned all he needed to know about coolness.

"You young hound!" he snapped.

"You said something like that before," Jack laughed. "Is that all you
can do? I feel as though I were wasting my time."

"Do you?" mocked Don. "Take that, then!"

This time he leaped forward, feinting with his left hand. But Jack was
not to be caught like that. Instead, he parried against the real blow
delivered with Don's right fist. The force of the parry threw Don to
his left. Just at that instant Benson passed behind his opponent,
landing a stinging blow on the other's neck. Down flat to the ground
went the Melville heir, hitting his nose roughly and starting the blood.

"Hooray!" yelled a gleeful boy in the throng. "Say, ain't he fine at
jiu-jitsu, though?"