Aleck dragged himself to his knees, then slouched to his feet. He was a pitiable sight. His eyes were little slits. His face was swollen until it looked as though he had the mumps. He was blubbering and gasping for his breath, and for a moment he did not see Mona.
"Are you licked?" demanded Peter, coming close to him.
Aleck drew back and put up a shielding hand. "I guess I got enough," he conceded.
"If you ain't sure—I mean if you aren't sure—I'll finish it," said Peter.
"I got enough."
"Then gimme the slung-shot."
Aleck surrendered the weapon. In that moment he caught a dim vision of Mona. He gulped and swallowed a lump in his throat.
"Now promise Mona you won't bother her any more. Promise—or I'll lick you again!"
"I promise."
"An' you won't throw stones at her gulls?"