Tommy grunted, and threw a stick at an early butterfly.
He was always most uncommunicative where he felt most, so I waited with discretion.
"All right?" he queried, presently, in a nonchalant voice.
I nodded.
"He says he's afraid you're not very strong."
Tommy stared, then he looked a little frightened.
"I—of course I'm not very strong, you know," he said thoughtfully, casting a glance down his sturdy young arms. "But I can lick young Collins, an' he weighs seven pounds more than me, an' I can pull up on the bar at gym—"
I hastened to reassure him.
"He referred to your attack last summer, you know, after the Chantrey affair."