Short Stories
exuberance.
The mocking chant rose louder and louder. Will leaned clos-
er as he danced, thrusting out his tongue. Johnny's left arm shot
out and caught the other around the neck. At the same time he
rapped his bony fist to the other's nose. It was a pathetically
bony fist, but that it was sharp to hurt was evidenced by the
squeal of pain it produced. The other children were uttering
frightened cries, while Johnny's sister, Jennie, had dashed into
the house.
He thrust Will from him, kicked him savagely on the shins,
then reached for him and slammed him face downward in the
dirt. Nor did he release him till the face had been rubbed into the
dirt several times. Then the mother arrived, an anaemic whirl-
wind of solicitude and maternal wrath.
"Why can't he leave me alone?" was Johnny's reply to her up-
braiding. "Can't he see I'm tired?"
"I'm as big as you," Will raged in her arms, his face a mess of
tears, dirt, and blood. "I'm as big as you now, an' I'm goin' to git
bigger. Then I'll lick you—see if I don't."
"You ought to be to work, seein' how big you are," Johnny
snarled. "That's what's the matter with you. You ought to be to
work. An' it's up to your ma to put you to work."
"But he's too young," she protested. "He's only a little boy."
"I was younger'n him when I started to work."
Johnny's mouth was open, further to express the sense of un-
fairness that he felt, but the mouth closed with a snap. He turned
gloomily on his heel and stalked into the house and to bed. The
door of his room was open to let in warmth from the kitchen.
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