Good Blood | Page 2

Could it be this, then, that so fixed the attention of the old colonel?

But having once begun, such is the nature of man, I could not withdraw
my attention before knowing whether this threat of a fight would really
swell to an outbreak. The boys had just come from afternoon school
session; they were still carrying their portfolios under their arms. They
may have been of equal age, but one was a head taller than the other.
This bigger one, a tall, lank, overgrown schoolboy, with an unpleasant
look in his freckled face, was blocking the way of the other, who was
short and plump and had an honest face with chubby, red cheeks.
The-bigger boy seemed to be nagging at the other with taunting words,
but by reason of the distance it was impossible to understand what he
said. After this had been going on for a while, the quarrel suddenly
broke out. Both boys dropped their portfolios to the ground; the little
chubby boy lowered his head, as though to ram his opponent in the
stomach, and then rushed at him.
"The big fellow there will soon have him in a fix," now said the colonel,
who was earnestly following the movements of the enemy, and who
seemed not to approve the tactics of the little chubby boy.
For whom he intended these words it would be hard to say; he spoke
them to himself without addressing any one of us.
His prediction was at once justified.
The big fellow dodged the onset of his enemy; the next moment he had
his left arm squeezed around the other's neck, so that the head of the
latter was caught as in a noose; he had him, as they say, "in chancery."
With his right hand he gripped the right fist of his opponent, who was
trying to pummel him with it on the back, and when he had regularly
trapped him and brought him completely under his power he dragged
him again and again round and about the lamp-post.
"Clumsy lad," muttered the old colonel, continuing his monologue,
"always to let himself get caught in that way." He was plainly
disappointed in the little chubby boy, and could not endure the long,
lanky one.
"They fight that way every day," he explained, noticing the waiter, to

whom he seemed willing to account for his interest in the matter.
Then he turned his face again toward the window. "Wonder if the little
one will turn up."
Scarcely had he mumbled this to the end when there came rushing from
the city park that adjoined the square a slender little slip of a lad.
"There he is," said the old colonel. He swallowed a mouthful of red
wine and stroked his beard.
The little fellow, who one felt sure by the resemblance must be a
brother of little Chubby Cheeks, but a finer and improved edition, ran
up, lifted high his portfolio with both hands and gave Long-Shanks a
blow on the back that resounded away over to where we sat.
"Bravo!" said the old colonel.
Long-Shanks kicked like a horse at this new assailant. Little-Boy
dodged, and the same instant Long-Shanks got a second blow, this time
on the head, that sent his cap flying.
Nevertheless, he still kept his prisoner held in the trap and fast by the
right hand.
Then Little-Boy tore open his portfolio with frantic haste; from the
portfolio he drew out a pen-case, from the pen-case a pen-holder, which
all at once he began jabbing into the hand of Long-Shanks that held his
brother prisoner.
"Clever lad!" said the colonel to himself. "Fine lad!" His red eyes fairly
gleamed with delight.
The affair was now becoming too hot for Long-Shanks. Stung with
pain, he released his first opponent to throw himself with furious blows
on Little-Boy.
But the latter was now transformed into a veritable little wild-cat. His
hat had flown from his head, his curly hair clung round his fine, deathly

pale face, out of which his eyes fairly burned; the portfolio with all its
contents was lying on the ground--over cap, portfolio and all he went
for the anatomy of Long-Shanks.
He threw himself on the enemy, and with little, clenched, convulsive
fists belabored him so on stomach and body that Long-Shanks began to
retreat step by step.
In the mean while Chubby-Cheeks had recovered himself, snatched up
his portfolio, and with blow after blow on the sides and back of his
oppressor, pushed into the fight again.
Long-Shanks at last threw off Little-Boy, took two steps backward and
picked up his cap from the ground. The fight was drawing to a finish.
Panting and out of breath, the three stood looking at one another.
Long-Shanks showed an ugly grin, behind which he tried to