"Come out from under that hill," while some boy would reply, "Oh, he dassent! He's afraid his shadder'll meet him in the way."
One day he came home with his pocket all torn out. Perkins had slipped a crooked stick in it and given it what the boys called a "yank."
"Go in and ask your mother for a needle and thread. You'll make a good tailor!" he jeered.
"What is all this row about?" asked his mother, who was in the front basement.
Ben held out his jacket ruefully, and said, "Perkins never would leave him alone."
Jim had complained and said Ben always showed the white feather. Mrs. Underhill couldn't endure cowards. She was angry, too, to see his nice winter jacket in such a plight.
"Benny Frank, you just march out and thrash that Perkins boy, or I'll thrash you! I don't care if you are almost as tall as I am. A great boy of fifteen who can't take his own part! I should be ashamed! March straight out!"
She took him by the shoulder and turned him round, whisked him out in the area before he knew where he was. She would not have him so meek and chicken-hearted.
Ben stood a moment in surprise. Jim had been scolded for his pugnacity. Perkins was always worse when Jim wasn't around.
"Go on!" exclaimed his mother.