Velvet Pants made an attempt to steal away, but Pete blocked his path.
“You’re going out on the lawn with me,” said Pete.
“And seeng?” asked the little man, who seemed somewhat dazed by what was happening.
“No; fight.”
“Fight?”
“Yes; fight.”
“But I do not hate you, Meester Pete.”
“Well, I hate you. Come on.”
“But how we fight?” inquired the small man; he was pale beneath his tan, and trembling. For answer Pete thrust a clenched fist under the man’s nose. The man drew his head back and shivered.
“No!” he said, shaking his head; “no! no! no! no! no!”