"Um," said Phares tauntingly, "mebbe you like her already and next you'll want her for your girl. You give her pink roses and you stay to lick the teacher for her if——"
But the sentence was never finished. At the first words David's eyes flashed, his hands doubled into hard fists and, as his cousin paid no heed to the warning, he struck out suddenly, then partially restraining his rage, he unclenched his right hand and gave Phares a smarting slap upon the mouth.
"I'll learn you," he growled, "to meddle in my business! You mind your own, d'ye hear?"
"Why"—Phares knew no words to answer the insult—"why, David," he stammered, wiping his smarting lips.
But his silence added fuel to the other's wrath.
"You butt in too much, that's what!" said David. "It's just like Phœbe says, you boss too much. I ain't going to take it no more from you."
"I—now—mebbe I do," admitted Phares.
At the words David's anger cooled. He laid a hand on the older boy's arm, as older men might have gripped hands in reconciliation. "Come on, Phares," he said in natural, friendly tones. "I hadn't ought to hit you. Let's forget all about it. You and me mustn't fight over Phœbe."
"That's so," agreed Phares, but both were thoughtful and silent as they went down the lane.
