When You Were a Boy

by Edwin L. Sabin

“You’re another ’nother!” said he.

“You’re twice as big as anything you can call me!” said you—a crusher, and quite unanswerable.

“You’re twice as big as that, an’ you da’sn’t back it!” said he, also scoring a point.

“YOU LET YOUR FOLLOWING FEEL YOUR MUSCLE”

“He says you da’sn’t back it! Ya-a-a-a-ah! he says you da’sn’t back it!” gibed the boys about you, glorying in the crisis.

Ted and you were now uncomfortably in the center of a circle which was ever being increased by the jubilant cries of “Fight! Fight!” which summoned spectators from all quarters.

“G’wan an’ back it! You can lick him!” urged your supporters.

“Aw, he’s ’fraid to! He’s ’fraid to!” scoffed your rivals.

Ted and you, grimy fists doubled, not knowing exactly what to do, faced each other. Neither of you wanted to fight. Fighting was being forced upon you. You were to amuse the pitiless crowd.