“Humph! you’re a big boy—ain’t you? Don’t even know enough to let the cat alone—and I hope her claw done you some good. Come here an’ let me borrer Miss Ruth’s peroxide bottle and put some on it. Cat’s claws is poison,” said Sadie. “You ain’t so fit to get along without somebody watchin’ you as ye think, kid. Remember that, now.”
“We don’t want no gal trailin’ after us all the time!” cried Willie, angrily. “An’ we ain’t goin’ to stand it,” and he kicked his bare toe into the sand to express the emphasis that his voice would not vent.
“Humph!” said Sadie, eyeing him sideways, meanwhile trimming carefully a stout branch she had broken from the lilac bush. “So you want to be your own boss, do you, Willie Raby?”
“We be our own boss—ain’t we, Dickie?”
For the first time, the echo of Dickie’s agreement failed to materialize. Dickie was eyeing that lilac sprout—and looked from that to his sister’s determined face. He backed away several feet and put his hands behind him.
“And so you ain’t goin’ to mind me—nor Miss Ruth—nor Mr. Steele—nor Mr. Caslon—nor nobody?” proceeded Sadie, more earnestness apparent in each section of her query.
Her hand reached out suddenly and gripped Willie by the shoulder of his shirt. He tried to writhe out of her grasp, but his sister’s muscles were hardened, and she was twice as strong as Willie had believed. The lilac sprout was raised.
“So you’re too big to mind anybody, heh?” she queried.
“Yes, we be!” snarled the writhing Willie. “Ain’t we, Dickie?”
“No, we’re not!” screamed his twin, suddenly, refusing to echo Willie’s declaration. “Don’t hit him, Sade! Oh, don’t!” and he cast himself upon his sister and held her tight about the waist. “We—we’ll be good,” he sobbed.