“Say now—you needn’t go to the trouble of tyin’ up that bundle,” the fellow continued. “I’m goin’ to carry it for you, see? and I won’t want a string. You didn’t need a string the time you carried my papers for me, did you? Droppin’ things behind you, one by one, can be done better without a string!”
Polly simply made a knot in the cord she was fingering and did not reply.
“I say!” exclaimed the newsboy at last, “what kind of a girl are you, anyway? Why don’t you cry?”
“There’s nothing to cry for,” said Polly, stoutly.
“Oh, ain’t there! How do you know but I’m goin’ to cuff you over the ear, same’s you did me?”
“Because you won’t. It’s cowardly for a boy to hit a girl.”
“And how about a girl hittin’ a fellow? Hey?”
“You took my Priscilla’s doll! You made my Priscilla cry!”
“Why, so I did! And you wouldn’t stand it! And so you hit me! Well, you’re an out-an’-outer, and no mistake! Say now, d’you want to know all I have against you?”