But Nic had not laughed. He was hurt bodily and mentally. There was a feeling of regret, too, uppermost, which made him resent this unseemly mirth as cowardly to a fellow enemy.
“You be quiet, Tomlins!” he cried.
“What for?” retorted the boy. “You haven’t been kicked as I have. I shall laugh at Gooseberry if I like. He began it all, and he has got his dose, and serve him right. Here, let’s get back. Old Dictionary turned his head just now. I say, Greeny, like to have another kick. I’m such a little one, I shan’t hit you again.”
“Wait a bit,” muttered Green.
“Oh, certainly; I’m in no hurry. Only you may as well do it when Nic Braydon’s here, because he can give you my compliments afterwards, and leave my card in each of your eyes. Poor old chap! I’m so glad you’ve been licked.”
“Will you be quiet, young un!” cried Nic angrily. “It’s mean and cowardly.”
“Well, that’s the stuff he deals in,” said Tomlins. “He likes that better than anything else.”
“That’s no reason why you should,” cried Nic. “Let him be, I tell you.”
“Oh, all right, I’ve done; but I suppose I may say I’m very sorry for him.”
“No, you mayn’t,” cried Nic. “Here, come on back, Greeny; we’ve had it out, but we needn’t be bad friends. I’m sorry we fought; you’ll shake hands, won’t you?”