"Because—because father would have been angrier if he'd known you hadn't smoked too," faltered Edgar. "Oh, Roger, I didn't tell a lie about it, I only held my tongue."
"And let Uncle John believe that I—that I—"
Roger's voice failed him, so intense was his indignation. He had been trying to keep his temper under control, but now it gained the mastery over him, and, flinging himself upon Edgar, almost choking with rage, he began to belabour him with his clenched fists. Edgar was no coward physically, whatever he was morally, and he was on the defensive in a moment. In a few minutes the two boys were engaged in a fierce fight, and, being equally matched as to height and weight, there is no saying how it might have terminated had not the sound of wheels warned the combatants to desist. Panting and dishevelled, they stood aside to allow the vehicle to pass; but, instead of doing so, it drew up, and, looking to see the reason, Roger was shocked to see his aunt's carriage, and his aunt herself in it with two lady visitors.
"Good gracious, boys!" cried Mrs. Marsh. "What is the meaning of this? Edgar, what has happened? Why, my darling, you are covered in dust, your clothes are torn, and —oh, surely you have not been fighting? Roger, you naughty boy—"
"I am not more naughty than Edgar," interrupted Roger, "not nearly so naughty if it comes to that, for I'm not a mean beast like he is." He was far too angry to pick his words.
"How dare you use such language," began Mrs. Marsh, looking surprised and shocked, for she had always considered her nephew a well-mannered little boy, but he broke in again:
"We've been fighting," he said passionately, "and I began it, and if you hadn't come up I'd have licked him. Of course you'll take his part, Aunt Janie, you always do, but he knows he deserves a good thrashing. I'll have nothing more to do with him, although he is my cousin, and I won't go near the Rookery again."
"I suppose you've quarrelled," said Mrs. Marsh, glancing from her visitors, who appeared highly entertained and evidently regarded the scene in the light of a joke, to her son's downcast countenance. "What have you fallen out about? How could you so far forget yourself, Edgar, as to fight in the road?"
"You mustn't blame him for that, Aunt Janie," said Roger quickly, "for I made him fight. I hit him first."
"But why?" questioned Mrs. Marsh, looking more and more mystified. "I don't understand. Oh, I hope neither of you is much hurt! And, oh dear—" with sudden alarm in her tone—"here comes your father, Edgar! Oh, John," she proceeded as her husband came up, "do find out what has happened to make the boys quarrel! They've been fighting."