"'Come on varlets,' he said, waving his gorry blade in one hand an' his gun in the other, an' holding a dagger in his clenshed teeth.
"But the pleeceman slank of.
"'Coward!' taunted the outlor through clenshed teeth."
William felt strongly that it was a very good story. He'd have to write the whole thing out again now. It was certainly time something happened to Mr. French. He went home planning vengeance.
He walked home slowly, his brow drawn into a stern frown, not leaping in and out of the ditch, or hurling missiles at passing friends or enemies, as was his usual custom. His thoughts were so entirely taken up with schemes of vengeance that he walked past the turning that led to his home and found himself in a road through which he did not often pass.
Two boys stood outside the gate of a house. They were boys whom William's mother would have designated as "common." William, whose tastes were lamentably low, looked at them with interest. He felt suddenly lonely and eager for the society of his kind. The opportunity of an introduction soon occurred. The larger of the two boys looked up to find William's scowling gaze fixed upon him.
"Ullo, Freckles!" he called, accompanying the insult with a grimace of obviously hostile intent.
William, forgetting all thoughts of Mr. French in the exhilaration of the moment, advanced threateningly.
"You jus' say that again," he said.
The red-haired boy obligingly said it again, and William closed with him. They rolled across the road and into the ditch and out of it again. William pulled the red-haired boy's nose and the red-haired boy rubbed William's head in the dust. It was quite a friendly fight—merely an excuse for the display of physical energy.