“You’ll shake hands?” said Syd. “We can be friends now.”
Still no notice.
“Shake hands, Mike Terry,” piped little Jenkins. “You’ve licked everybody, and it was quite your turn.”
“Hold your tongue, you little wretch,” hissed the other. “I owe you something for this.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the impish little fellow, beginning to caper about with the sponge. “You touch me again and I’ll get Belton to give you your gruel. You nasty great coward, you’ve got it at last.”
“Don’t you be a coward,” said Syd, sharply. “Now, Mr Terry, I’m very sorry: shake hands.”
“Here, one of you take that basin and sponge away from Jenks,” said Terry, getting up painfully. “He wouldn’t have done this if I hadn’t hurt one of my arms.”
“Well, if I was licked fair like that, I would own to it,” said Bolton. “It was fair, wasn’t it, Roy?”
“As fair as a fight could be,” was the reply.
“Yes,” said Barney, thrusting in his head, “that was as fair as could be, Master Syd.”