"Here, I ain't doin' nothin'."
The answer was a sounding whack which made him wriggle.
[237] "You let me alone, you big coward. I ain't doin' nothin' to you. You better let me alone. Sam! S–A–M! S–A–A–A–M!!!" as the stick came down again and again.
"Don't bother me," shouted Sam outside. "I'm writin' poethry—terrible partic'lar job, poethry. He only means it in kindness, anyhow."
Guy was screaming now and weeping copiously.
"You'll get some more if you give me any more of your lip," said Yan, and stepped out to meet Sam with the note-book again, apparently scribbling away. As soon as he saw Yan he stood up, cleared his throat and began:
"Kingbird, fearless crested—"
But he did not finish it. Yan struck him a savage blow on the mouth. Sam sprang back a few steps. Yan seized a large stone.
"Don't you throw that at me," said Sam seriously. Yan sent it with his deadliest force and aim. Sam dodged it and then in self-defense ran at Yan and they grappled and fought, while Guy, eager for revenge, rushed to help Sam, and got in a few trifling blows.
Sam was heavier and stronger than Yan, but Yan had gained wonderfully since coming to Sanger. He was thin, but wiry, and at school he had learned the familiar hip-throw that is as old as Cain and Abel. It was all he did know of wrestling, but now it stood him in good stead. He was strong with rage, too— and almost as soon as they grappled he found his [238] chance. Sam's heels flew up and he went sprawling in the dust. One straight blow on the nose sent Guy off howling, and seeing Sam once more on his feet, Yan rushed at him again like a wild beast. A moment later the big boy went tumbling over the bank into the pond.