Then Archie threw himself on the moss, took out a book, and began to read. He was just beginning to repent of his conduct to Harry Brown, and meant to go up to him like a man when he returned, and crave his forgiveness.
But somehow, when Harry came back he had so long a face, that wicked Archie burst out laughing, and forgot all about his good resolve.
“What shall I teach you next?” said Archie.
“Draw it mild, Johnnie; it’s ’Arry’s turn. It’s the boy’s turn to teach you summut. Shall we ’ave it hout now wi’ the raw uns? Bunches o’ fives I means. Hey?”
“I really don’t understand you.”
“Ha! ha! ha! I knowed yer was a green ’un, Johnnie. Can yer fight? Hey? ’Cause I’m spoilin’ for a row.”
And Harry Brown threw off his jacket, and began to dance about in terribly knowing attitudes.
“You had better put on your clothes again,” said Archie. “Fight you? Why I could fling you over the fishpond.”
“Ah! I dessay; but flingin’ ain’t fightin’, Johnnie. Come, there’s no getting hout of it. It ain’t the first young haristocrat I’ve frightened; an’ now you’re afraid.”
That was enough for Archie. And the next moment the lads were at it.