Pressed, pressed, pressed downward, Tad was sinking by a fraction of
an inch each minute. The strength above him was pitiless. Except for
the running of water in the bathroom, where Guy had dragged Spit Castle
to wash his nose, there was no sound in the room but the long hard
pantings, now from Tad's side, now from Tom's. In the intervals
neither seemed to breathe.
[Illustration: "GET UP, I TELL YOU"]
Suddenly Tad collapsed, and went down. Tom came on top of him. The
heavier having the lighter fastened by arms and legs, the two lay
like two stones. The faces were so near together that they could have
kissed. Their long protruding eyebrows brushed each other's foreheads.
The weight of Tom's bulk squeezed the breath from his foe, as a bear
squeezes it with a hug. Nothing was left to Tad but resistance of the
will. Of that, too, Tom meant to get the better.
The words were whispered from one mouth into the other. "Do you know
what I'm going to do with you?"
There was no answer.
"I'm going to take you back with me to let that old man out of his
shop."
There was still no answer. Tom sprang suddenly off Tad's body, but with
his fingers under the collar.
"Get up!"
He pulled with all his might. The collar gave way. Tad fell back.
"Damned if I will," was all he could say by way of defiance.
Tom gave him a kick. "Get up, I tell you. If you don't I'll kick the
stuffing out of you."
The kick hurt nothing but Tad's pride; but it hurt that badly. It hurt
it so badly that he got up, with no further show of opposition. He
dusted his clothes mechanically with his hands; he tried to adjust his
torn collar. His tone was almost commonplace.
"This has got to be settled some other time. What do you want me to do?"
Tom pointed to the door. "What I want you to do is to march. Keep ahead
of me. And mind you if you try to bolt I'll wring your neck as if you
were a cur. You--you--" He sought a word which would hit where blows
had not carried--"you--coward!"