"What he said erbout me war true enough—an' ef ye admits what he all but said erbout you—thet ye hain't no man—then thet's true too."
The boy was crestfallen and a little impatient now. He had come to recount an achievement which had plumed and reappareled a limping self-respect and he had expected congratulation.
"What's ther use of faultin' me by mincin' words? I licked him, didn't I? Set hit down ter anything ye likes."
Her voice still held that cold note of inflexible but quiet anger. "Yes, ye licked him but hit looks like ter me ye picked yore man plum keerful an' got ye an easy one. Wait hyar, I'm goin' atter my hat."
"What fer?"
"Were a'goin' over thar tergether—an' ye're goin' ter crave his pardon."
"I wouldn't crave his pardon," burst out the boy violently, "ter save his soul from torment. I'd be a laughing stock ef I did."
"Ye're agoin' ter do one of two things, Joe," she announced with finality. "Ye're either agoin' ter ask his pardon, whilst I stands by an' hears ye do hit or else ye're a'goin' ter tell him thet ye licked him over ther wrong words—an' thet seein' ye blundered, ye're willin' ter lick him afresh over ther right ones—him or anybody he names ter fight in his place."
Joe hung his head for a moment, then the pricking of the old self-scorn came with a turning tide.
"All right," he said. "Let's go."