"I don't—want to—hurt you," he muttered, "but—I will—if you don't—let go!"
There was no answer from Tim, but the grip didn't relax. Don worked a hand under the other's chin and tried to force his head back. Tim gave a little and they collided with the window-seat, stumbled and slid together to the floor, Don on top. For a moment they writhed and thrashed and then Don worked his right arm loose, slowly tore Tim's left hand away and held it down to the floor.
"Let go or I'll punch you, Tim," he panted.
"Punch—ahead!"
Don strained until he felt Tim's other hand giving, and then, with a sudden fling of his body, rolled clear and jumped to his feet. But Tim was only an instant behind him and, panting and dishevelled, the two boys confronted each other, silent.
"I'm going out there," said Don after a moment.
Tim only shook his head and smiled crookedly.
"I am, Tim, and—and you mustn't try to stop me this time!"
"I've—got to, Don!"
"I'm giving you fair warning!"