Platt and Wilkins were expecting an attack.  They knew that Jim would seize the opportunity of attacking them singly, and in the absence of Hector, of whom he was afraid, and with good reason.  They concerted measures, accordingly, for defeating the common enemy.

Jim was stalking about the next day, looking sullen and feeling ugly.  He could not help observing that whenever he approached a group of boys they immediately scattered and walked away in various directions.  This naturally chafed him, for, having no intellectual resources, he found solitude oppressive.  Besides, he had been accustomed to the role of boss, and where is a boss without followers?

Tired of the schoolroom precincts, Jim went to walk.  In a rustic lane, much to his delight, he saw approaching him one of the boys who had so seriously offended him.

It was Ben Platt.

Ben was sauntering along in idle mood when he came face to face with the dethroned boss.

“So it’s you, Platt, is it?” said Jim, grimly.

“I believe it is,” answered Ben, coolly.

“I’ve got a word or two to say to you,” said Jim, significantly.

“Say them quick,” said Ben, “for I’m in a hurry.”

“I’m not,” said Jim, in his old tone, “and it makes no difference whether you are or not.”

“Indeed! you are as polite as usual,” returned Ben.

“Look here, you young whelp!” Jim broke forth, unable any longer to restrain his wrath, “what, did you mean by lying about me last evening?”

“I didn’t lie about you,” said Ben, boldly.

“Yes, you did.  What made you say you saw me put that wallet into Roscoe’s pocket?”

“I can’t think of any reason, unless because it was true,” said Ben.

“Even if it were, how dared you turn against me?  First you play the spy, and then informer.  Paugh!”

“I see you admit it,” said Ben.  “Well, if you want an answer I will give you one.  You laid a plot for Hector Roscoe—­one of the meanest, dirtiest plots I ever heard of, and I wasn’t going to see you lie him into a scrape while I could prevent it.”

“That’s enough, Platt!” exclaimed Jim, furiously.  “Now, do you know what I am going to do?”

“I don’t feel particularly interested in the matter.”

“You will be, then.  I am going to thrash you.”

“You wouldn’t if Hector Roscoe were here,” said Ben, not appearing to be much frightened.

“Well, he isn’t here, though if he were it wouldn’t make any difference.  I’ll whip you so you can’t stand.”

Ben’s reply was to call “Wilkins!”

From a clump of bushes, where he had lurked, unobserved hitherto, sprang Wilkins, and joined his friend.

“There are two of us, Smith!” said Ben Platt.

“I can thrash you both,” answered Jim, whose blood was up.

Before the advent of Hector no two boys would have ventured to engage Jim in combat, but his defeat by a boy considerably smaller had lost him his prestige, and the boys had become more independent.  He still fancied himself a match for both, however, and the conflict began.  But both of his antagonists were in earnest, and Jim had a hard time.