The little guy ran across the room and pulled Clive away. Clive had flecks of foam at the sides of his mouth. “That’ll teach him,” he said shrilly. “He won’t hit me again in a hurry.”
“You might have broken your nice nails,” the little guy said sharply. “That ain’t the way to go on.”
Duffy pushed himself up on the couch and lowered his legs to the floor. Joe watched him, a big grin on his face. “Ain’t he a pip?” he said, admiringly.
The other two turned and watched him too. Duffy was sitting up now, his head sunk on his chest. He remained like that for several minutes, then he put both hands on the couch and levered himself to his feet. His face was a mask of blood. Swaying, he made a little tottering run at Clive, who hastily got behind the little guy.
Joe stepped in front of Duffy. He said, “Still looking for trouble?”
Duffy swung a leaden arm, but Joe hit him in the ribs again, stepping in close and driving at Duffy a jarring jolt. Duffy opened his mouth and said “O!”, then he fell on his knees.
Just then the telephone bell rang. The three started and looked at the telephone. It continued to ring.
“That’s bad,” the little guy said, looking worried.
They waited, all concentrated on the sound of the bell. It rang for several seconds, then it stopped.
Joe dragged Duffy on to the couch again. He heaved him up and looked at the little guy.