Ben walked out slowly. The boys were down the street. If they would only go away. He passed the Whitneys and halted. He could rescue hounded cats and tormented dogs, and once had saved a little child from being run over. But to fight—in cold blood!
"Oh, here comes my Lady Jane!" sang out some one.
"She's quite too young—
To be ruled by your false, flattering tongue."
"Sissy, wouldn't your mother mend your coat? Keep out of the way of the ragman!"
Perkins was balancing himself on one foot on the curbstone.
"Come on, Macduff!" he cried tragically.
Macduff came on with a quick step. Before the boys could think he strode up to Perkins and with a well-directed blow landed him in the sloppy débris of snow and mud, where the children had been making a pond. And before he could recover Ben was upon him, roused to his utmost. The boys were nearly of a size. They rolled over and over amid the plaudits of their companions, and Ben, who hated dirt and mud and all untidiness, didn't mind now. He kept his face pretty well out of the way, and presently sat on his adversary and held one hand, grasping at the other.
The boys cheered. A fight was a fight, if it was between the best friends you had.
"Beg," said Ben.
"I'll see you in Guinea first!"