Bessie in the City

by Joanna H. Mathews

But although Harry did as Fred asked, there was trouble before the day was half over. Mr. Moore gave his son permission to go out to the park during the recess of the school which the boys attended. Before the half-hour was up, George rushed into the house crying loudly, and with his lip cut and bleeding. He made such an outcry that the whole family were very much alarmed; but when his mouth was washed, it proved to be but a slight cut, and nurse declared to Jane that Franky would have been ashamed to make a fuss for such a trifle.

"Fred had done it," he said. "Fred wanted to fight, and he would not. He had never fought in his life. He'd be ashamed to say he had."

Mrs. Bradford was very much troubled; but she waited to hear her own son's side of the story before she judged him. Mrs. Moore, however, had a great deal to say.

When Fred came home, two hours later, his hand was bound up in his pocket-handkerchief.

"How have you hurt your hand, Fred?" asked his father. "Is it true you have been fighting?"

"Yes, sir."

"Without just cause, as George says?"

"I had cause enough, sir, if that was all," said Fred, rather sulkily for him.

"That he had," said Harry. "You'd have been ready to fight yourself, sir. I'll tell you how it was. George is not fair and above board, as we found out last night. So when he came out to the play-ground, I just told him we would allow no unfair play, and he did not try it. But after a while he said he did not care to play with such a rough set, and walked off by himself. I thought I ought to go and see after him, and found him shying stones at the sparrows about the water-tanks. I told him he had better have done with that, or he would have an M. P. down on him. Then he said he guessed he'd go home. First thing I knew a few minutes after, he was howling, and Fred had him by the collar. It seems poor Charlie Wagstaff—poor, hump backed little Charlie—was sitting on a bench reading, when my gentleman George passed by and saw him. He began by throwing gravel over Charley's head and neck, not thinking he was one of our boys, and that not a fellow in the school would see him abused, and at last, getting bolder, snatched his book, and threw it over the park railing. It was a borrowed book, and the poor boy took his crutches and started after it. Then George began dancing about him, and calling him 'Old hipperty hop,' and such names. Fred, who saw them from a distance, feared something was wrong, and ran to the spot just in time to see him pull Charlie's crutch from under him, throw him on the ground, and then run. But Fred collared him, and in his quick way, just let fly and hit him in the mouth. He came off the worst, though, for his knuckles were cut by George's teeth, and he was not so much hurt. George went off roaring, and that moment the whistle sounded, and we had to go in. It was writing hour, and when Mr. Peters saw Fred's bleeding knuckles, he asked him if he had been fighting. He said, 'Yes,' and Mr. Peters was going to keep him in, when Charlie spoke up, and told the whole story. Mr. Peters said we all knew how strict the rules against fighting in play-hours were; but he really thought, in this case, Fred was almost excusable, and asked how many agreed with him. Up went every hand in the school, and I don't think he was ill-pleased either. So he excused Fred, and told me to tell you why he had done so; and I don't believe you'll be the one to blame him, papa."