As if to add insult to injury, the Andersons, mother and son, made a passageway of the place they claimed (in the name of their daughter and sister) and persisted in using this, in spite of remonstrance and even warning.
Now, for some time past Nannie had, by means best known to women, been contriving to fire Steve's usually placid temper, and the morning after her visit to Constance's an opportunity presented itself for the fanning of the flames she had kindled. On opening her door just after breakfast she saw mother Anderson and her son William land at the little private pier Steve had built, and then walk with a bold and rugged step up toward the house en route to the station, some half mile to the rear.
Now was Nannie's chance!
Such fun to see Steve fight!
“Steve!” she screamed, running into the house, “here are those dreadful people again! They frighten me to death! I shall never dare to stay here alone if you don't make an end of their coming!” Frightened! Ah, Nannie! with that bright color and those dancing eyes!
Steve ran out, his mind aflame at last as he thought of poor little Nannie's terrors and the offensive note he had received.
“See here, Anderson,” he began, “you have been asked to keep away from this place. It has——”
But just here William, who had no regard for social amenities, cut his remarks short by a resounding slap in the face.
Steve had never fought in his life. He was rather ashamed of this (had never confessed it), and the time seemed ripe now to break his peace record. Drawing back, to give himself a greater spring, he landed a heavy blow somewhere in mid-air. Said locality surviving the attack, he withdrew to prepare a fresh onslaught.
Meanwhile he began to notice that he was being smartly thumped by the enemy, and he aimed a supreme effort in that direction.