“Let go!” said Tom huskily; and he struggled to get free.
“Oh no, yer don’t. Yer arn’t going to get away till yer’ve paid me that there sixpence.”
Tom’s fit of philanthropy had nearly all evaporated, like so much mist before the intense heat which Pete had set burning, and made all the blood in his face and extremities seem to run to his heart, which pumped away violently, causing his head to feel giddy, and his hands and feet to tingle and jerk.
“Will you leave go?” he cried in a low, hoarse whisper.
“No, I sharn’t, yer cowardly sneak,” cried Pete triumphantly, for the white face and trembling voice were delightful to him. He had his enemy metaphorically upon his knees, and it was pure delight to him to have Tom at his mercy. “Yer’ve bounced it over me long enough when yer’d got any one to help yer, or you was at home; but I’ve got yer now, and I’m going to pay yer, and teach yer, and let yer know what’s what. Where’s that there sixpence yer owe me?”
“Will you let go?” cried Tom, more huskily than ever, but with his eyes blazing.
“No,” cried Pete, grinning, and giving his imaginary victim a tremendous shake.
The last wreath of Tom’s philanthropic mist had evaporated.
Click—Clack!
It was the only way in which he could use his fists from the manner in which he was being held; so Tom struck sharply upwards, his blows taking effect upon Pete’s lower jaw, and jerking his head sharply, making him loose his hold and stagger back, to go down in a sitting position amongst the furze.