“I’ll fix you, Matson!” muttered the bully. “I’ll teach you to push me down! You might have broken my arm or leg,” he added in an injured tone.
“I didn’t push you!” retorted our hero. “You tried to hit me and missed. Then you fell.”
“That’s right!” chimed in Peaches, amid a silence, for the general snowball fight had ceased in anticipation of another kind of an encounter.
Hiram balanced himself half way up the white wall.
“What did you smash me in the face with a snowball for?” he demanded. “We made it up that no one was to aim at another fellow’s face at close range, and you know it.”
“Of course I know it,” answered Joe. “But that rule applied to hard balls, and I didn’t use one. I threw a soft ball at you, and you know why I did it, too. I’ll let Luke Fodick have one, too, if he does it again.”
“Does what again?” sneered the bully’s crony.
“Use icy balls. I saw you and Hiram take some frozen ones from that box,” and Joe pointed to the secret supply of ammunition. “Some of our fellows were hit and that’s why I threw in your face, Hiram. Now, if you want to fight I’m ready for you,” and Joe stood well balanced on top of the wall, awaiting the approach of his enemy.
Somehow the fighting spirit was oozing out of Hiram. He felt sure that he could whip Joe in a battle on level ground, but when his opponent stood above him, and when it was evident that Joe could deliver a blow before Hiram could, with the probability that it would send the attacker sliding down the wall again, the bully began to see that discretion was the better part of valor.