“Now let’s see Speck knock that off!”
Speck disdainfully lifts his hand and brushes the offending chip to the ground.
“Hit him, John!”
“Don’t you stand that!”
“There!” you say, tapping him gently on the breast.
“There!” he answers, tapping you a little harder.
“There!” you return, tapping him harder still.
“There!” he retaliates, tapping you yet harder.
Then with a final “There!” that breaks through all restraint, and amid shrill, rapturous cheers, two pairs of arms begin to whirl with wild rapidity, the sole thought of their owners being a blind offense according to hit-who-hit-can rules.
The engagement did not last long. A horrified and meddlesome old lady interfered, and after informing you both many times that “little boys shouldn’t fight,” your temperature down again to normal, she sent you off with your disappointed encouragers, while she conscientiously watched you out of sight.