Again Cal raised his closed hand and again it dropped back. Tears came to his eyes. “Gee, Ned, I just can’t!” he sobbed. For a long moment the two boys looked at each other. Then Ned’s eyes closed.
“Let me up, Cal,” he said quietly.
Cal released him and arose. Ned climbed to his feet, picked his cap from the dust and examined his bleeding knuckles.
“Suppose there’s any water around here?” he asked. Cal shook his head.
“There’s the brook further along,” he answered subduedly. He picked up his own cap and rescued his box.
“Come on, then,” said Ned.
They went on along the road to the brook in silence. There Ned laved his bruised and swollen hand, and Cal, wetting his handkerchief, held it to his chin. Presently they went on again, Cal hugging the box. Nothing was said until they reached the main road and the village lay in sight ahead. Then Ned turned curiously to his companion.
“Why didn’t you hit, Cal?” he asked. Cal shook his head.
“I don’t know, Ned. I just couldn’t, somehow.”
“I guess,” said Ned presently, “we’re a couple of idiots, Cal.” Cal nodded without looking at him. It was almost a block further along that Ned spoke again.