“Don’t have to,” Kenneth replied.
“Say, you better run home to your Ma-Ma, little boy. D’ye hear?”
“Don’t have to,” Kenneth responded.
“Calico cat!” sneered the boy, insultingly. “Calico, I say. Old calico cat!”
“Tortoise-shell,” insisted Kenneth, politely but firmly. “I’ll punch your head.”
The boy doubled up his fists with a snort of rage,—he was bigger than Kenneth,—and said:
“Oh, you’ll punch my head, will you? You’ll punch my head! I say, fellers, did you hear him say he’d punch my head? Boxey, you heard him say it?”
“I heard him,” said Boxey.
“Well, then, come along and do it. I just stump you to come along and do it. Huh! don’t dare do it!”
Kenneth had never engaged in a regular fight before, but it is strange how different trousers make one feel—especially that first day. So he took off his new little coat,—it was quite an old one before he reached home,—and went for the boy. A ring formed to see that there was fair play; for although they all pitied Kenneth, they couldn’t help respecting a boy who said, “Don’t haff ter,” to Patsy McGann.