“I’ll pay you for that,” growled Pewee, as he recovered himself, now thoroughly infuriated; and with a single blow he sent Jack flat on his back, and then proceeded to pound him. Jack could do nothing now but shelter his eyes from Pewee’s blows.
Joanna Merwin had seen the beginning of the battle from her father’s house, and feeling sure that Jack would be killed, she had run swiftly down the garden walk to the back gate, through which she slipped into the alley; and then she hurried on, as fast as her feet would carry her, to the blacksmith-shop of Pewee Rose’s father.
“Oh, please, Mr. Rose, come quick! Pewee’s just killing a boy in the street.”
“Vitin’ ag’in,” said Mr. Rose, who was a Pennsylvanian from the limestone country, and spoke English with difficulty. “He ees a leetle ruffen, dat poy. I’ll see apout him right avay a’ready, may be.”
And without waiting to put off his leathern apron, he walked briskly in the direction indicated by Joanna. Pewee was hammering Jack without pity, when suddenly he was caught by the collar and lifted sharply to his feet.
“Wot you doin’ down dare in de dirt wunst a’ready? Hey?” said Mr. Rose, as he shook his son with the full force of his right arm, and cuffed him with his left hand. “Didn’t I dells you I’d gill you some day if you didn’t gwit vitin’ mit oder poys, a’ready?”
“He commenced it,” whimpered Pewee.
“You dells a pig lie a’ready, I beleefs, Peter, and I’ll whip you fur lyin’ besides wunst more. Fellers like him,” pointing to Jack, who was brushing the dust off his clothes,—“fellers like him don’t gommence on such a poy as you. You’re such anoder viter I never seed.” And he shook Pewee savagely.
“I won’t do it no more,” begged Pewee—“’pon my word and honor I won’t.”
“Oh, you don’t gits off dat away no more, a’ready. You know what I’ll giff you when I git you home, you leedle ruffen. I shows you how to vite, a’ready.”