“Go it, Tuvvy,” cried one, patting him on the back; “go in and win.”
“I ain’t a-goin’ to fight a little chap like you,” said Bill, moving off sullenly with the kitten under his arm. “So don’t you think it.”
“You give me the cat, then,” said Dan, following him. “’Ere’s my knife, with three blades, and on’y one broke.”
“Git out with yer,” said Bill contemptuously. “I tell yer I’m a-goin’ to have a cat-chase with this ’ere kitten. So no more bother about it.”
“You’re afraid,” snarled Dan, running along by his side. “I wouldn’t be a big chap like you, and be afraid—that I wouldn’t.”
“Take that, then,” said Bill, turning suddenly, “if you will have it;” and he gave the small boy a blow which struck him to the ground.
In a moment he was up again, quite undaunted.
“Come on, then,” he cried, doubling his fists and dancing round his enemy, “if you aren’t afraid.”
“A fight! a fight!” sounded from all sides; and there seemed no doubt of it, for Bill’s temper was roused.
“Ketch ’old for a minnit,” he said, holding out the kitten, for which a dozen grimy hands were outstretched; “’twon’t take long—”