“Let the boy alone,” he thundered.
“Well, don’t bite my head off, old man,” replied Ola. “I haven’t hurt your fool of a boy. I have only been joking with him.”
“I don’t think you are troubled with overmuch wit yourself, judging by the style of your jokes,” was Grim’s cool retort.
The company, who plainly saw that Ola was trying to wriggle out of his difficulty, but were anxious not to lose an exciting scene, screamed with laughter again; but this time at the bully’s expense. The blood mounted to his head, and his anger got the better of his natural cowardice. Instead of sneaking off, as he had intended, he wheeled about on his heel and stood for a moment irresolute, clinching his fist in his pocket.
“Why don’t you take your lunkhead of a son home to his mother, if he isn’t bright enough to understand fun!” he shouted.
“Now let me see if you are bright enough to understand the same kind of fun,” cried Grim. Whereupon he knocked off Ola’s cap, rumpled his hair, and gave his nose such a pull that it was a wonder it did not come off.
The bully, taken by surprise, tumbled a step backward, but recovering himself, struck Grim in the face with his clinched fist. At this moment. Bonnyboy, who had scarcely taken in the situation; jumped up and screamed, “Sit down, Ola Klemmerud, sit down!”
The effect of this abrupt exclamation was so comical, that people nearly fell from their benches as they writhed and roared with laughter.
Bonnyboy, who had risen to go to his father’s assistance, paused in astonishment in the middle of the floor. He could not comprehend, poor boy, why everything he said provoked such uncontrollable mirth. He surely had no intention of being funny.
So, taken aback a little, he repeated to himself, half wonderingly, with an abrupt pause after each word, “Sit—down—Ola—Klemmerud—sit—down!”