“You wouldn’t dast,” said the boy. But he showed a spark of admiration for Gloria’s courage. It was betrayed in his questioning tone of voice.
“Oh, wouldn’t I!” sang back Gloria. “You don’t know me.” She it was who boasted now. “I don’t like anything better than a good fight— fair and square and even,” she hurried to add. “If we’re going to fight, let’s fight, but if we’re going to play fair, let’s play fair.” Secretly she was chuckling that her former association with Tommy and his friends had afforded her an education in their peculiar line of arguments.
“That’s right,” agreed the boy. The little fellow was calling him Marty so Gloria took advantage of the information.
“Now, Marty,” she began again, first looking sharply over the road for spectators or eavesdroppers, “if you say so, I’ll go up to your house and have a talk with your mother. Honestly, I don’t want to be enemies with you. But don’t you see, I don’t know anything about the fight?”
In that sullen fashion peculiar to children who have a forced maturity, they all turned away toward the road to school. It did not occur to them that an answer was due to Gloria’s question. They had a way of shutting their lips tight, just like Jane would have done in trouble, and now they marched off in what might be called “high dudgeon” if they had known what that term meant.
Gloria smiled after them. She had seen other children just like these, and one dominant trait in their character had always impressed her.
They were so loyal!
Also they were brave!
Not being wise enough herself to understand why this was so, she, nevertheless, admired the children for it.
“I believe I could win Marty over,” she was thinking as she now hurried along. Her brigands were well on toward the long hill that bent itself up into a great, green hump, with a little smooth landing at the end where Sandford School stood up majestically in all its modern importance.