"But I do, you see," he answered, "that's just the difference."
I tried to defend myself, but he got hold of one of my feet, and held it up. I sat up, and howled with pain and indignation.
"Have you had enough?" he said, and, without waiting for my answer, proceeded to give me more.
"But I don't fight," I said; "I don't approve of fighting."
"Then I'll teach you to have better manners than to say so," said he, and he taught me for nearly five minutes.
"Now then," he said, "are you licked?"
"Yes," I answered; for indeed I was.
"Are you sorry you ever tried to fight with me?"
"Yes," still seemed to be the only thing to say.
"And do you approve of fighting?"