When, at last, the rain ceased and the bright July sun came out of the clouds, they greeted it with genuine relief and joyously scattered in all directions.
Don, deserted by Becky, who had to go to Miss Gray’s for her music lesson, walked out to the street and found Allerton promenading up and down the opposite sidewalk, his head bowed and his hands clasped behind his back—as an old man might have strutted. The sight awakened Don’s slumbering wrath and he called out:
“Hello, mollycoddle! What are you up to?”
Allerton straightened up and glanced across the street.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said. “Are you ready for your thrashing?”
“Yes. I dare you to come over here,” responded Don, promptly.
“If you want your punishment, come and get it!”
“You’re afraid,” sneered Don.
“It isn’t that,” replied Allerton. “I haven’t my gloves here, and I dislike to soil my hands.”
Don glared at his neighbor’s spick and span apparel, and the sight of the “dandy” made him still more combative. Allerton was the biggest and strongest, perhaps; but he was nearly a year younger than Don, who had no thought of his own disadvantage. In that mood he would willingly have fought a giant.