Cadets to the Rescue, or, Faraday's Cordon of Death — page 4: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Sern Saar 66 “LOOKING FOR TROUBLE.” ‘“‘Bah!’? he sneered, turning on his lieel. “The mutton-head!’? ren:arked lank Fislicake. “Just what that means-—‘Ba!’’ put in Nanny, the sinallest student in the academy. “Scrap ?’’ eagerly interrogated Pun’kin, the fat, poetical plebe, rushing up hopefully at this juncture. “Oh, no!’ wagged Dismal Joy, solemnly. ‘‘Fara- day never scraps.”’ “Don’t ?”? ‘‘No; whien it’s necessary he just Ihnits out.’ a Wats: SO.” ‘Which ends it.’ Clif had made no move towards ending any thing, 11 the present instance. From the way hisquick hands got ready, however, and his eyes squared his opponent,,every friendly soul divined that the latter had made discretion the better part of valor just in time. The quarrelsome craven wasa blot, a blur on a bright, peaceful scene, ‘as he was.a dam pener on e€very occasion whien the jolliest crowd in class or > school broke loose from -study and duty. Chunky, swarthy, low-browed, herce-eyed, slov- enly, out with everything, himself Included—thiis description covered him precisely. “Who is he, anyway?’ asked Vic Rollins, who, espying the incipient fracas from a ditaee had hastened up without seeing the fellow’s face. ‘Darchie.? “Oh! a Third Class chap—what’s he doing with our crowd ?”? 6 < 4. ay No, a Fourth Class chap! corrected Fisheake,