With an exclamation of disgust, Harry rushed up behind the bully and, seizing his arm, jerked it so that the remaining snowballs fell to the sidewalk.
The thought that anyone had seen his cowardly act in snowballing the aged man shamed the bully, but only for the moment.
“What do you mean by that?” he demanded, fiercely, whirling round to face the interrupter of what he considered his sport. And as he beheld the boy who had brought disgrace upon him in the morning, his face grew white with anger. “Oh, it’s you, is it?” he went on. “Who do you think you are, anyhow? Just because you couldn’t steer the sled and went over the embankment is no reason why you should think you are so much!”
“You know I could steer that sled, and only went between the posts to keep from running into the girls,” returned Harry. “But that has nothing to do with the present matter. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, to throw snowballs at an old man!”
“Oh, nobody cares about old Jed Brown!”
“Well, you can’t snowball him when I’m round!”
“Oh, is that so? Who’s going to stop me, I should like to know?”
“I am.”
