"I know."
Don took a deeper breath and stepped forward. "Don't touch me!" he warned. But Tim was once more in his path, hands stretched to clutch and hold. "Out of my way, Tim! Fair warning!" Don's face was white and his eyes blazing.
"No!" whispered Tim, and crouched.
Then Don went on again. Tim threw himself in the way, a fist shot out and Tim, with a grunt, went back against the pillows and slipped heavily to the floor.
Don's hands fell to his sides and he stared bewilderedly. Then, with a groan, he dropped to his knees and raised Tim's head from the floor. "Gee, but I'm sorry, Timmy!" he stammered. "I didn't mean to do it, honest! I was crazy, I guess! Timmy, are you all right!"
Tim's eyes, half-closed, fluttered, he drew a deep breath and his head rolled over against Don's arm.
"Timmy!" cried Don anxiously. "Timmy! Don't you hear me! I didn't hit you awfully hard, Timmy!"
Tim sighed. "What—time is it?" he murmured.
"Time? Never mind the time. Are you all right, Tim?"
Tim opened his eyes and grinned weakly. "Hear the birdies sing, Don! It was a lovely punch! Help me up, will you?"