“You won’t get them.”
“I will get them! You’ve no right to boss me, Arthur Thompson! You—you’re a big bully, that’s what you are! I want my books!”
“Shut up that noise and do as I tell you. Clear that table off.”
“I won’t! I won’t, and you can’t make me! I want my stamp books!”
Arthur shrugged his shoulders wearily.
“You heard what I said, Harry, and you’d better believe I mean it. I’ve given you plenty of chances to act right. Now you can do without your old stamps for awhile.”
“I’ll go to Mr. Collins! I’ll—I’ll break open that door!”
Harry was so angry that his voice broke, and the tears came to his eyes. He sprang at the closet door and tugged at the handle in frantic rage. Finding that useless he faced Arthur with white face and glaring eyes. He wasn’t a pleasant sight to look at, and Arthur turned away in disgust and began to gather Harry’s rubbish into a pile on the table.
“You let those things alone! They’re not yours!” shrieked Harry. He seized Arthur’s arm with one hand and aimed a puny blow at him with the other. Arthur seized him and dumped him ingloriously on his bed, howling and kicking.