Bogle looked quite gratified. “I told you kids liked me,” he said, smirking. “They’ll even fight over me.”
He’d got something because White Shirt recovering from his surprise grabbed Red Shirt by the throat and put on squeeze.
Bogle was quite shocked. He dragged them apart and held them, one in each great fist.
“Hey!” he said. “This ain’t the way to behave. Now, listen, you two…”
Red Shirt kicked out at White Shirt and succeeded in landing a bone shattering smack on Bogle’s leg. Bogle let the kids go like they were red hot and clasped his leg with a grunt of anguish.
The two kids began to mix it all over the verandah.
“Holy Moses!” Bogle gasped. “Can’t you stop ’em?”
“Don’t bring me into It,” I said, watching the kids with interest. “I’ll just be the historian.” Bogle got to his feet and managed to separate the kids. “Shut up, you two!” he said fiercely.
“No fighting! Now, listen, you can do a shoe apiece. How’s that?”
Neither of them understood what he was saying, but they quieted down and looked at him with bright, intent eyes.