“If you don’t I’ll have you arrested,” said James, with another violent but ineffectual struggle.
“You’re welcome to do it,” said Harry. “Perhaps there’ll be something to say on my side as well as yours.”
“If you don’t come and help me, Tom Barton, I’ll never speak to you again,” said James, whose anger was now directed against his confederate.
“I would if I could,” said Tom, “but my back’s too sore.”
The fact was, that Tom’s back was not quite so much hurt as he wished to have it believed, but he had no inclination to attack Harry again. The ease with which he had been thrown, caused him to realize that Harry carried “too many guns for him,” as the phrase is; and, though he was ready to fawn upon James, he was not willing to compromise his personal safety for him. But a bright idea occurred to him.
“I’ll go and call your father,” he said.
James did not answer. He would rather have had Tom’s personal aid, but that he was not likely to obtain. Tom Barton, glad to get away, limped off towards the road.
“Are you going to let me up?” demanded James, fiercely.
“That depends upon whether you behave yourself. Promise to fire no more stones at me.”
“I won’t.”