The boys crowded into the entry and spat on them. Red Head pulled Willie's hair twice, drawing his head forward as he would pull a bell rope.
“Don't he think he's smart?” “Wouldn't have 'em!” “Whistle Breeches! Whistle Breeches!” they shouted in derision, and Willie whimpered and edged into a corner.
“Don't you do that,” he said in a choking voice. “I'll tell teacher, I will!”
Red Head stuck his freckled face close and shoved him with a warlike shoulder. His fists were doubled, and he jabbed Willie with his elbow.
“Aw, you tell him, then, why don't you, Whistle Breeches?” he inquired. “Jist you tell him, an' I'll punch your face off.”
He drew his arm back and feinted, Willie crooked his elbow to hide his face.
“Aw, come on, fellers,” said Red Head with deep disgust. “What's the use of foolin' with him? He ain't nothin' but a cry-baby in whistle breeches. He ain't no fun.”