"Well, where is it?"
"Here it is." And climbing astride the window sill, Larry handed in the
jaunty straw.
"Where'd you find it?"
"Bud give it me, 'n' say--"
"All right," nodded Spike, dusting the straw tenderly with a
handkerchief. "Now git, I wanter be alone."
"But, say, Kid, Bud says I was ter say as he's sorry for what he said,
'n' say, he says you'd better be gettin' over t' O'Rourke's, 'n' say--"
"I ain't comin'!"
"But say, you're t' fight Young Alf, 'n' say--"
"I ain't comin'!"
"But say, dere's a lot of our money on ye--I got two plunks meself, 'n'
say, you just gotter fight anyway. Bud says so--"
"I can't help what Bud says; I ain't comin'."
"Not comin'!" exclaimed Larry, his eyes rounder than ever.
"No!"
Larry's wide mouth curved in a slow grin, and he nodded his
close-cropped head; said he:
"Say, Kiddo, you know Young Alf's a punishin' fighter, I guess; you know
as nobody's never stopped him yet, don't yer; you know as you're givin'
him six pounds--say, you ain't--scared, are ye?"
"Scared?" repeated Spike, frowning.
Pages:
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260