"Sh—sh—shut up," yelled the under twin, struggling wildly, "y—y—you r—r—rotten old b—beat! L—l—lemmeup!"
"Here," said Sally, imperatively, "let him up. Stop pounding him."
Harry stopped his pounding of Horry and both of the twins looked up, Harry with a sheepish grin and Horry with an expression of the most profound relief.
"S—S—Sally!" they began, in unison. "Oh, I ain't h—h—hurtin' 'im," continued Harry. "Oh, h—h—he ain't h—h—hurtin' m—me," said Horry.
Sally laughed. "Well," she said, "you'll get up." She took Harry by the shoulder. "It's positively disgraceful the way you brothers fight."
Harry got up slowly. "B—b—brothers always f—f—fight," he said apologetically, "if th—th—they're an—an—any—wh—where ne—n—near th—the s—s—same s—size. H—H—Horry 'n-n' I are j—just th—the s—s—same s—s—size. B—b—but I n—n—never h—hurt 'im," he added magnanimously.
Horry had got up, and was standing on one leg, with his stockinged foot against his other knee. He made Sally think of a belligerent stork.
"Y—yer c—c—couldn't, th—that's wh—why," he yelled. Then, sticking his head forward until his face was almost touching his brother's, he vented his scorn in a single yell. "Y—a—ah!"
This was too much for Harry's imitation of goodness, and he gave chase at once. Horry, handicapped by the loss of one shoe, which was now almost out of sight, had made but two jumps when Harry caught him. They clinched and went down in a heap. Sally couldn't tell whether the stockinged foot belonged to the under or the upper twin. She laughed again. They seemed to prefer to fight anyway, so why not let them?
The kite was now up as far as it could go. The rope was all out, and Everett was holding to a post of the fence. Dick came running over the field toward the prostrate twins.