The youth made an uncouth but expressive sign towards the milk shed. "Sh—Tave'll hear you. He and I ain't been just on good terms lately; but 'tain't my fault," he added doggedly.
At that moment a clear childish voice called from somewhere below the lane:
"Romanzo—Romanzo!"
The boy started guiltily. "I've got to go, Champ; she wants me."
Champney seized him with a strong hand by the suspenders. "Here, hold on! Who, you gump?"
"The girl—le' me go." But Champney gripped him fast.
"No, you don't, Roman; let her yell."
"Ro—man—zo-o-o-o!" The range of this peremptory call was two octaves at least.
"By gum—she's up to something, and Tave won't stand any more fooling—le' me go!" He writhed in the strong grasp.
"I won't either. I haven't been half-back on our team for nothing; so stand still." And Romanzo stood still, perforce.