“Which one of you hit my Tommy?”
The sight of us had sort of stupefied the kid. But now his eyes blazed up.
“It was him,” he properly pointed.
“I took you for an enemy,” Poppy explained his attack.
“For two cents,” cried the kid, “I’d ‘enemy’ you with a crack on the jaw.”
“Tommy!” came the sharp command. “You shet up an’ keep still.”
“I can lick him,” the kid glowered.
“I’ll do some ‘lickin’ in a minute or two if you don’t mind me.”
The old man’s pretended fierceness was funny to us. More than that, with his whiskers and everything, he looked funny. So it isn’t surprising that Poppy grinned. And as though this was the final straw that tipped the hay cart over, or whatever the old saying is, the kid lit into the hated one like a young hurricane. For a minute or two all I could see was flying arms and legs. Over and over they rolled, whanging and banging each other like a couple of prize fighters. And, bu-lieve me, old Poppy had all he could handle! In the fracas the table was tipped over. Tin dishes clattered right and left. The old man tried to separate the fighters with his cane. Whack! whack! whack! But they paid no attention to the sharp cracks that he gave them. So he grimly got the pepper shaker. No kid can scrap and sneeze at the same time. So, for the present, at least, the battle was ended.
Nor were the two tousled fighters the only ones who dizzily contributed to the sneezing act. Boy, I thought I’d rip a hole in the top of my beezer. Uncle Abner spit his false teeth clean across the cave. Even the Bible stand rocked. But finally things sort of quieted down.