he
spoke quietly. 'Don't worry, pals. You're here, too. Hush now!'
Wilf came across the playground toward his victim, holding out his hand. As Ben shook it, the bully sneered.
'Well well, didn't think you'd have the nerve to show up!' He tightened his grip like a vise and gave a short whistle.
The Grange Gang clambered over the stone wall, surrounding Ben.
Smiling, Ben indicated them with a nod. 'I see you've brought some help.'
Regina poked a finger sharply into Ben's back. 'It's you who's going to need the help, stupid!'
Keeping tight hold of his victim's hand, Wilf called out. 'Any sign of that dog about?'
Tommo's squeaky voice reassured him. 'Nah, it's all right, Wilf!'
Ben never blanched as Wilf applied more pressure to his hand. 'Your note said you wanted to see me alone, just
to talk.'
Wilf's eyes grew mean and narrow. 'Did it, now? Well, I told a little fib. I'm going to teach you a lesson, to
keep your nose out of other people's business. That's if you've got any nose left when I'm done with you!'
Regina warned Wilf as the back library window opened. 'Look out, it's old Braithee!'
Mr. Braithwaite had been studying in the library, notwithstanding the fact that it was Sunday. Time and tide did
not count in the absentminded scholar's scheme of things. He looked over his glasses at the young people in the
playground. 'I say, er er, what's going on out there, er, not fighting I, er, hope! Not nice, er, fighting.'
Regina called out in a little-girl voice. 'Oh, no sir, we're only playing a game!'
The librarian-cum-schoolmaster scratched his bushy head. 'Oh, er, very good, very good. Hmm, not nice, er,
fighting!' He shut the window and went back to his studies.
Ben suddenly stood on Wilf's toe, did a neat twist, and, releasing his hand from the bully's grip, he stood
grinning into the bigger boy's red face. 'Hear that? It's not nice to fight, y'know!'
The sound of Wilf's teeth grinding together was audible as he leaped forward, swinging a fierce punch at his
adversary's face. He struck air. Ben was out of his way, holding up both palms open wide, his voice soothing and
reasonable.
'Steady on, friend, I don't want to fight you.'
The gang were shouting out now, wildly excited.
'Knock his block off, Wilf!'
'Make his nose bleed!'
'Go on, Wilf, belt the little squirt one!'
Wilf charged like an enraged bull, swinging wildly with both fists. But each time, Ben either ducked or dodged
nimbly aside.
From behind the gable wall, Alex almost sobbed with disappointment. 'Ben won't stand and fight, he's scared!'
Amy began to feel the same way as her brother. She stood out in the open, fists clenched, willing Ben to land
Wilf a blow each time the bully went staggering by. However, Ben kept up the same tactics, weaving around his
attacker, still open-handed.
'I told you, Wilf, I don't want to fight you!'
Wilf, breathing heavily, gasped out. 'That's 'cos you're a coward. Come on, fight, you yellowbelly!'
This time he changed his assault, looping out a savage right. As Ben dodged it, Wilf kicked out just as Regina
pushed Ben in the back, sending him onto the kick. It caught his shin. The kick did not injure Ben greatly; however,
he decided it was unwise to leave his back uncovered.
Amy, with Alex behind her, came running toward the fray, shouting out, 'Foul, foul! Keep your feet to yourself,
Smithers!'
Not wanting them caught up in the fight, Ben backed off until he was up against the schoolhouse wall. Shoving
aside Amy and Alex, Regina laughed gleefully. 'Get 'round him quick! Hahaha, you've got him cornered, Wilf!'
She was right. Ben found himself against the wall with the others standing around in a half-circle. Wilf was
right in front of him—Ben could not go left, right, or back. Leaping forward, Wilf aimed a swinging right at his face.
Ben ducked, and there was a meaty thud, followed by an agonized scream. Amy went white, she could not see what
had gone on.
Wilf Smithers came howling and screeching out of the melee, holding his right elbow in his left hand, his face
the color of a beetroot. As he stopped and did a dance of pain on the spot, his right hand flapped uselessly.
Mr. Braithwaite came hurrying into the yard, his dusty gown swirling about him as he called out to the dancing
boy. 'Er, er, what, er, seems to be the trouble, er, Smithers?'
Wilf had lost the power of intelligent speech and continued to scream and dance. Ben came forward, unhurt,
calmly explaining. 'We were playing a game, sir, and he punched the wall by accident. I think his hand is hurt. Are
you all right, Wilf?'
Mr. Braithwaite showered dandruff around as he scratched his wiry mop furiously. 'Hand, er, right, er,
whats-ername . . . Woodworthy. Go and get somebody, er, immediately. Yes, right away, er, I should think!'
Regina went dashing out of the schoolyard, straight into Mr. and Mrs. Evans, who were out for a stroll.
Blodwen Evans strode purposefully toward the speechless dancing boy, with her husband Dai trailing behind.
She took charge of the situation, addressing Mr. Braithwaite. 'Indeed to goodness, what's possessin' the lad?'
'Er, ah, er, hand I should, er, think, yes!'
She brushed Mr. Braithwaite aside, grabbed Wilf by his injured hand, and felt it. He gave out a last shriek and
fainted. Blodwen Evans pursed her lips as she made a quick diagnosis. 'Look, you, the lad's hand is broken! Dai, Mr.
Braithwaite, you'll 'ave to help me carry him to the chemist. He's closed, but we'll rattle the door 'til he opens.'
She seized the unconscious Wilf's feet, glaring at the librarian. 'Don't lift him by the right hand, man, take
