“If I wasn’t so weak just now I certainly would make him eat those words,” exclaimed John.
“You hear that?” demanded George. “It’s always ‘if’ with him.”
“And you always pick on a man when he’s down,” retorted John.
“How about me? Just look at the terrible wound I have on the back of my hand.”
“Yes,” said Grant, “the parrot thought you were bird seed.”
“Or a cracker,” added Fred.
“That’s right,” cried George, pretending to be greatly hurt. “You all always take sides against me. Still it’s an even match at that.”
“I guess we’d better take some of that conceit out of him, don’t you?” exclaimed Grant slowly advancing towards George.
“Well, I should say so,” cried Fred eagerly, and a moment later George was at the bottom of a pile of four boys, three of whom busied themselves with poking him in the ribs, jouncing up and down on his stomach and in every other way possible making it just as uncomfortable as they could for him.
Everyone was laughing and in good humor, however. Seldom it was that any of these boys lost his temper, for they had learned long ago just how foolish a proceeding that was. The one who gets angry is always teased, but there is no satisfaction in plaguing a boy who ignores it or gives as good as he receives and always keeps his temper under control.