But Harry held him down with a tight grip. Tom had had enough fighting, and did not stir to his assistance.
“Get up, you ragamuffin!” he screamed. In fact he was more mortified that his defeat should have come from Harry Raymond than if his opponent had been of his own position. That a poor boy like Harry should treat with such indignity his father’s son was a gross outrage which filled him with vexation.
“Let me up, you beggar!” he cried, again.
“You’ll have to speak to me in a different style before I let you up,” said Harry, coolly, for he felt that the advantage was in his hands, and that it was for him to dictate terms of submission.
“I called you by your right name,” said James, provoked beyond the limits of prudence. “You are a ragamuffin and a beggar.”
“It strikes me that you are a beggar just now,” said our hero.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you are begging me to let you up.”