“Yassur—an I’m Tom Burwell. Whats y want?”
Bob lunged at him. Tom side-stepped, caught him by the shoulder, and flung him to the ground. Straddled him.
“Let me up.”
“Yassur—but watch yo doins, Bob Stone.”
A few dark figures, drawn by the sound of scuffle stood about them. Bob sprang to his feet.
“Fight like a man, Tom Burwell, an I’ll lick y.”
Again he lunged. Tom side-stepped and flung him to the ground. Straddled him.
“Get off me, you godam nigger you.”
“Yo sho has started somethin now. Get up.”
Tom yanked him up and began hammering at him. Each blow sounded as if it smashed into a precious, irreplaceable soft something. Beneath them, Bob staggered back. He reached in his pocket and whipped out a knife.