John explained. He wanted to make a little pocket money.
"Well you can't here. G'wan home before I smash your face!"
"Won't," stubbornly. "Got just as much right as you here."
There was a pause. "Well are you going?" asked the "Jefferson's" captain.
"No!"
"I'll make you." He advanced, fists doubled. They circled around and around on the pavement, each looking for an opening through the other's guard. Suddenly the bigger boy lunged forward and his fist went true to the mark—John's nose. They sparred again, now feinting forward, now stepping backward, like two young turkey cocks. A tall, blue-clad, brass-buttoned figure rounded the corner, and Shultz raised the alarm.
"Cheese it, the cop!"
They broke for cover, each in the direction of home and parental protection, while the guardian of the peace stood and laughed at the fleeing figures.
Once well down the street, John pulled up, panting, and rubbed his nose. That kid had certainly hit it. The organ hurt like the mischief, and felt as if it were three sizes too big. He hoped it wouldn't be like that at school, Monday.
He heard a familiar voice, "Hello!"