Everybody knows that there are two kinds of strength in a fight,—one that comes from training, and one from splendid rage, and Kenneth’s was of the latter order. When his nose began to bleed, he wept with fury, which was very effective, as it made the blood seem ever so much more. And when Patsy muttered, “Calico,” between his blows, Kenneth answered, “Tortoise-shell!” with all the vengeance of which he was capable.
It was not a long battle, for the sound of Weejums’ pathetic voice, from the tree, put force into Kenneth’s rib-punches, and presently Patsy McGann went down, with a waving of grimy heels that called forth a storm of applause from the onlookers.
“He’s licked him—he’s licked him! Give him the cat,” called a larger boy who had strolled up while the fight was in progress. And all the others drew away from the tree, while Kenneth coaxed Weejums down, with a voice that she recognized, although she would never have known his poor bruised little face. And just as he had taken her in his arms, who should come whistling up the street but Franklin!
He understood the situation at a glance, and striding up to Patsy McGann, seized him by the shoulder, saying, “Did you lick him? Answer me! Did you lick that little fellar?”
“Naw, he licked me. An’ just on account of that old caliker cat you was chasin’ the other day.”
“You shut up!” said Franklin, with his face burning. But Kenneth had not heard the whole of the sentence.
“What kind of a cat did you say it was?” he asked, turning to Patsy.
“A cal—I mean turtle-shell cat,” said Patsy, sullenly, walking off with his friends.
CHAPTER FIVE
MR. AND MRS. BLUEBERRY