“What do I care for you or your eyes?” was the only answer which Penn vouchsafed to return.
“You’re always flying out at fellows like a young turkey-cock, you No-thank-you,” said Wilton. “Why don’t you thrash him, Penn, for his confounded impudence?”
“Thrash him yourself if you like, Raven; I don’t care the snap of a finger for what he says.”
“What do you mean, No-thank-you, by charging him with bagging the thing when he says he didn’t?” said Wilton in a threatening tone to Charlie; and as Charlie took no notice, he enforced the question by a slap on the cheek; for Wilton had old grudges against Charlie to pay off.
“I didn’t speak to you, Wilton; but you shan’t hit me for nothing; you force me to fight against my will,” said Charlie, returning the blow; “you can’t say that I’m doing it to get off anything this time, as you did once before.”
A long and desperate fight ensued between Charlie and Wilton; too long and too desperate in the opinion of several of the bystanders; but as there was no one near who had any authority, nobody liked to interfere. So, as they were very equally matched, neither of the combatants showed the least sign of giving in, though their faces and clothes were smeared with blood. At last Henderson and Whalley, who were strolling through the playground, caught sight of the crowd, and came up to see what was the matter.
“It’s a fight,” said Henderson; “young Evson and Belial junior; I’d much rather see them fight than see them friends.”
“Yes, Flip; but they’ve evidently been fighting quite long enough to be good for them. You’re a monitor—couldn’t you see if they ought not to be separated, and shake hands?”
“Hallo, stop, you two,” said Henderson, pushing his way into the crowd. “What’s all this about? let’s see that it’s all right.”
“It’s a fair fight,” said several; “you’ve no right to stop it.”