"Tina, go into the house and fetch me my knife. I left it on the nursery table."
It was Puggy who spoke, and his tone was peremptory. He added, as Christina obediently walked away: "That's the good of girls to fetch and carry. They're good for nothing else."
He wanted to impress Dawn with his manliness, but Dawn knew better. He flushed up at once.
"Dad says only cannibals and savages make girls work for them, gentlemen never do; at least Englishmen don't!"
"You don't call yourself an Englishman, do you? I heard my sister say this morning that your father was a poor Irish artist. You're a Paddy, that's what you are!"
"A Paddy can be a gentleman!" retorted Dawn, springing up from the ground where he had been playing with Nibble his mouse, and pocketing the little creature in furious haste.
Puggy laughed scornfully.
"Paddies are always beggars. They live with pigs and chickens in bog cabins. I know all about them. We have two Paddies at my school. One tells lies, and the other never washes!"
"And what are you? A brag and a bully!"
Dawn's cheeks were scarlet, his eyes flashing fire. Puggy made a dash at him, and the next moment both boys were fighting. Jackets were tossed aside, sleeves tucked up, and if Puggy hit away with dogged persistence, Dawn perplexed him by his many sided onslaughts: dancing here and there, he was never in the same place for a second, and they were in the very thick of it when poor little Christina came back from her errand.