Then began a savage tussle with the pail of water as the bone of contention. It proved a mighty unsatisfactory bone to fight over, for as it heaved and jumped under the straining hands and arms, a quart went into the Dutchman’s face and a cupful found its way down the Mexican’s back. This caused little damage, apart from putting a keener edge on the tempers of Fritz and Silva. Ceasing the struggle for the pail, they began giving their attention to each other.
There was a close and animated tangle of heads, arms, and legs—the pail somewhere in the midst. As the massed combatants surged back and forth, they left a trail of water; and their cries, which were wild and continuous, were all awash and filled with strangles and bad words—words on which they choked.
Merriwell and Clancy, at the second-story window, were enjoying the spectacle hugely. It seemed to be reaching a serious phase, however, and they were just thinking of putting a stop to it when the Chinaman’s heels went into the air and the Dutchman and the Mexican fell away from him.
Woo Sing, by some weird mischance, had taken a header. The pail happened to be placed so as to receive him. For half a minute he was emerged to the shoulders in the pail, his sandaled heels kicking the air. It was a mirthful exhibition, and Fritz and Silva enjoyed it.
“Haw, haw, haw!” the Dutchman wheezed. “Vat a funny Chinaman I don’d know! See, vonce, how he kicks his heels mit der air, und keeps his headt der pail in! Iss der vater py der pail? Yah, so hellup me! Vill der Chinaman be trowned? Dere iss not so mooch goot luck!”
“Madre mia!” tittered the Mexican, holding up against the pump while he gasped and chuckled and roared. “Dat ees no Chinaman, dat ees one frog! De frog he take one dive in de pail, and he make t’ink de pail ees a pond—har, har, har!”
Woo Sing, about as mad a Chinaman as one could find, succeeded at last in getting his feet on the ground. Half strangled, he lifted himself erect. Now that he was right side up, of course the pail was upside down. A flood of water was released and rolled over the Chinaman like a tidal wave. His kimono and baggy breeches were soaked. With a sputtering whoop, he tore the pail from his head and hurled it at Fritz.
The pail caught the Dutchman in the pit of the stomach, doubling him up with something besides laughter. Having attended to Fritz, the water-soaked Celestial rushed at Silva.
The Mexican, in jumping away from the pump, hit the handle with his knee. It flew up and struck him a terrific blow under the chin. While Silva was thus more or less demoralized, the Chinaman fell on him and bore him down.
Fritz, who had by a valiant effort succeeded in getting his breath back, was “seeing red.” Reckless of consequences, he picked up a club and started to even up matters with Woo Sing. The mêlée was becoming too serious to be tolerated any further. Up to that point Merry and Clancy had enjoyed the performance in the back yard immensely.