The "pure scholar" bared a small, skeleton arm, on which a creditable knot of muscle rose as he flexed it.
"You are really a pretty good fighter, aren't you?" I asked.
"Paw he'd knock me in the head if I weren't."
"Very well. I told you once not to fight Jason Wyatt. I may have been wrong in doing so. Next time he picks on you, fight him back."
Just before noon, Nucky ran into the cottage with bulging eyes. "That 'ere little Iry is a-giving Jason the best whupping down in the stable-lot ever you seed. Jason he got to feisting around him ag'in, and he just grabbed him unexpected, and laid him out, and now he's choking the life out of him!"
"Good!" I cried, hurrying back to see the combat. All the boys were miraculously gathered, and the wash-girls also looked on with delight. Jason tried all his tricks, but could not once free himself from the relentless grasp. Both arms were pinioned, one by a leg, one by an arm of Iry's, his head was held down by the dreadful hand at his throat; only his legs were free, and they alas, were useless,—his toes passed harmlessly over Iry's face and neck and ears!
Not until he had held out to the verge of suffocation did the conquered conqueror at last gasp for mercy, and being let up, crawl off under the corncrib to sob out his rage and shame in peace.
Doubtless this will do him much good.