“They’ll all be molly-coddles, if they don’t know how to fight.”
“Have you found Emil a molly-coddle? He doesn’t look much like one,” and Mr. Bhaer brought the two face to face. Dan had a black eye, and his jacket was torn to rags; but Emil’s face was covered with blood from a cut lip and a bruised nose, while a bump on his forehead was already as purple as a plum. In spite of his wounds, however, he still glared upon his foe, and evidently panted to renew the fight.
“He’d make a first-rater if he was taught,” said Dan, unable to withhold the praise from the boy who made it necessary for him to do his best.
“He’ll be taught to fence and box by and by, and till then I think he will do very well without any lessons in mauling. Go and wash your faces; and remember, Dan, if you break any more of the rules again, you will be sent away. That was the bargain; do your part and we will do ours.”
The lads went off, and after a few more words to the spectators, Mr. Bhaer followed to bind up the wounds of the young gladiators. Emil went to bed sick, and Dan was an unpleasant spectacle for a week.
But the lawless lad had no thought of obeying, and soon transgressed again.
On Saturday afternoon as a party of the boys went out to play, Tommy said,—
“Let’s go down to the river, and cut a lot of new fish-poles.”
“Take Toby to drag them back, and one of us can ride him down,” proposed Stuffy, who hated to walk.
“That means you, I suppose; well, hurry up, lazy-bones,” said Dan.