Tess of the Storm Country

"Is this the unfortunate young man," asked a strange, but not altogether unfamiliar voice.

"Yes," Billy heard Hall answer in heartbroken tones, "and please, doctor, do the best you can for him."

"Oh, we'll fix him alright in just about a minute," responded the strange voice. "Mr. Hall, will you please hold his arms, for when patients are excited they sometimes forget themselves, and ... now ... my instruments, please."

Billy's arms were held tightly behind him, and for a moment he heard nothing--then came to his ears the sound of a box being unclasped and--horror of horrors--the rattle of surgical instruments.

Would they dare cut his face? Why his father would-Billy felt the cold blade of the knife touch his flesh, and hot blood run down to his chin.

Upon this he became possessed by the strength of a giant. Jerking his hands loose he struck out with all his might, his fist hitting something with the force of a kicking donkey. There was a sound of some one falling and a roar of laughter went up from the students as Billy was grasped by what seemed a thousand hands. The bandage was snatched from his eyes and he looked upon a sorry sight. Manchester, the expert wielder of the Mazuka, had failed as a surgeon. He lay a few feet away amid pieces of broken ice, which he had pretended was a surgical knife--his coat bespotted with hot milk which represented poor Billy's blood, and his left hand clasped tightly over a swollen eye.

"What hit me?" gasped the fictitious Dr. Wallace.

"What hit Manchester, fellows?" one of the seniors managed to howl out to the convulsed fraternity members.

"I believe that rascally freshman did it," exclaimed Manchester excitedly, "bring me the 'Mazuka,' and I'll put a bunch on him that never will come off."

"Gee Whiz! Look at his eye," some one called out.

This brought Manchester to a standstill.

"What's the matter with it," he groaned, putting his hand again to his face, "is it gone?"

The lids were puffed shut, and were rapidly darkening. Richard Hall, laughing uproariously, held a pocket mirror for the young sophomore to peep into. After a moment's contemplation of his bruised face, Manchester came forth in a hoarse whisper, "That freshman's got to die--If I only ... had an ax," and his one eye gazed wildly around in search of a weapon.

"Come, come, Teddy Manchester," soothed a tall senior, "we'll arrange with the freshman alright. Don't work yourself into unnecessary excitement."