"No, can't go," replied Ande, shaking his head. He must go home and talk with his mother over the great prospects of attending the Grammar School.
"Naw,—'e must ask 'is mawther fust," cried Bully Bob, with a great coarse laugh. The laugh and the reference to his mother stung Ande, but he pretended not to notice.
"'E's getting up too far now in society to 'sociate with we; 'e was calling on squire some time ago, and squire give 'im the seat of honour—fact," said Bob with a wink and a grin that seemed to bring forth additional grins upon the countenances of several of his satellites.
Ande stood for a moment, irresolute, then resumed his way.
"Les give three hoots for the red-'eaded Deane and all his traitor hancestors."
The last was too much for the impatient spirit of the lad to brook. Turning about and with a calm, steady voice, he cast his gauntlet at Bob in the shape of a few words in the dialect, equivalent to a challenge to battle the world over.
"Bob, thee'rt a great, ghastly coward, and thee knaw it."
A wave of redness swept over Bob's face, completely drowning the freckles with which it was freely sprinkled.
"'Ow's that! I 'ave a good mind to scat thee in the chacks for thy himpudence, m'lad." And then in a tantilising manner, as Ande approached, he continued, "Thee art a traitor, for thy faather and grandfaather were traitors. Everybody knaws they were traitors and cowards hout in blooming hold America."