"What yer got there--blackb'rys and mash-eroons?"
"Yes; there are plenty about," replied Tom.
"Know that better than you do."
"I dare say you do," said Tom good-humouredly, as he watched the
unpleasant looks directed at him, the fellow's whole aspect being such
as we read was assumed by the wolf who sought an excuse for eating the
lamb.
All the same, though, Tom's aspect partook more of the good-humoured
bulldog than that of the lamb; though Pete kept to his character well,
and more and more showed that he was working himself up for a quarrel.
"Yah!" he exclaimed suddenly, after edging himself up pretty closely,
and with his hands still in his pockets, thrusting out his lower jaw,
and leaning forward stared over his raised shoulder at Tom. "Yah! I
feel as if I could half smash yer!"
"Do you?" said Tom quietly.
"Yes, I do. Don't you get a-mocking me. Ain't yer feared?"
"No," said Tom quietly, "not a bit. Have sixpence?"
Pete stared, and leaned over out of the perpendicular, so as to get his
face closer to Tom's. "Whort say?"
"Will you have sixpence?" said Tom, thrusting his right hand into his
pocket, and withdrawing the above coin.
"Yerse; 'course I will," cried Pete, snatching the piece, spitting on
it, and thrusting it into his pocket. "Thought your sort allus telled
the truth."
"Well, so we do," said Tom, smiling.
"None o' yer lies now, 'cause it won't do with me," said the fellow
menacingly. "Yer said yer warn't afeard, and yer are. All in a funk,
that's what yer are: so now then."
"No, I'm not," said Tom, in the coolest way possible, for he had made up
his mind to try and carry out the Vicar's plan.
"I tell yer yer are. What yer got here? Yer wouldn't ha' give me
sixpence to let yer alone if yer hadn't been afeard. What yer got here,
I say?"
"You can see," said Tom, without showing the slightest resentment at the
handle of his basket being seized, even though Pete, in perfect
assurance that he was frightening his enemy into fits, grew more and
more aggressive.
"Yes, I can see," cried Pete. "I've got eyes in my head, same as you
chaps as come from London, and think yerselves so precious sharp.
Yer've no right to come down and pick what's meant for poor people.
Give 'em here."
He wrenched the basket from Tom's arm, and scattered its contents away
amongst the furze-bushes, sending the basket after them.
"There, that's what you'll get if yer comes picking and stealing here.
How d'yer like that, young blunt 'un?"
"Not at all," said Tom, who looked very white, and felt a peculiar
tingling about the corners of his lips and in his temples.
"Course yer don't; but yer've got to like it, and so I tell yer. Smell
that."
He placed his fist within an inch of Tom's nose, and the boy could not
help smelling it, for it was strong of pulling onions, or peeling them
with his nails.
"Now, then, how much money have yer got with yer?"
"Only another sixpence," said Tom a little huskily.
"Hand it over, then, and look sharp about it, 'fore it's the worse for
yer."
He caught hold of Tom's jacket as he spoke, and gave it a shake, making
his dog sidle up and growl, "Hear that? You give me more of yer sarce,
and I'll set the dorg at you, and see how yer like that. Now, then,
where's that sixpence?"
"I'll give it to you if you'll leave go," said Tom quietly. "Look here,
Pete, I don't want to quarrel with you."
"That yer don't. I should like to see you. Give it here."
"I want to be friends with you, and try to do something for you."
"Yes, I knows you do. You've got to bring me a shillin' every week, or
else I'll give it yer, so as you'd wish yer'd never been born. I'll
larn yer. Give me that sixpence."
"Leave go first."
"Give's that sixpence, d'yer hear?" cried Pete, clapping his other hand
on Tom, and shaking him.
"Don't do that," cried Tom; "it makes me feel queer."
Pete yelled with laughter.
"Course it does; but that arn't nothing. Hand over that there sixpence,
or--"
He gave a savage shake, which made Tom turn deadly pale, and shake
himself free.
"What!" roared Pete. "Oh, yer would, would yer? Lay hold on him.
Ciss! have him there!"
The dog, which had been snuffling and growling about, needed no further
urging, but sprang at Tom, who received his charge with a tremendous
kick, which caught the cur under the jaw, knocking it over, and sending
it in amongst the furze bushes, where it lay howling and yelping
dismally, till it gave a peculiar sharp cry, sprang out with something
sticking to its nose, and then dashed off with its tail between its legs
as hard as it could go, leaving a little viper wriggling back over the
short grass to get back to the shelter of the furze.
Pete Warboys looked perfectly astounded at Tom's act, and stood staring
for a few moments. Then, attributing it to horror and desperate fear,
he ran at his enemy again, and got a firm grip of his collar, to begin
see-sawing him to and fro.
"That's it, is it?" he cried; "yer'd kick my dorg, would yer? Just you
give me that other sixpence, or I'll break every bone in yer skin 'fore
yer know where you are."
"Let go!" said Tom huskily; and he struggled to get free.
"Oh no, yer don't. Yer arn't going to get away till yer've paid me that
there sixpence."
Tom's fit of philanthropy had nearly all evaporated, like so much mist
before the intense heat which Pete had set burning, and made all the
blood in his face and extremities seem to run to his heart, which pumped
away violently, causing his head to feel giddy, and his hands and feet
to tingle and jerk.
"Will you leave go?" he cried in a low, hoarse whisper.
"No, I sharn't, yer cowardly sneak," cried Pete triumphantly, for the
white face and trembling voice were delightful to him. He had his enemy
metaphorically upon his knees, and it was pure delight to him to have
Tom at his mercy. "Yer've bounced it over me long enough when yer'd got
any one to help yer, or you was at home; but I've got yer now, and I'm
going to pay yer, and teach yer, and let yer know what's what. Where's
that there sixpence yer owe me?"
"Will you let go?" cried Tom, more huskily than ever, but with his eyes
blazing.
"No," cried Pete, grinning, and giving his imaginary victim a tremendous
shake.
The last wreath of Tom's philanthropic mist had evaporated.
_Click--Clack_!
It was the only way in which he could use his fists from the manner in
which he was being held; so Tom struck sharply upwards, his blows taking
effect upon Pete's lower jaw, and jerking his head sharply, making him
loose his hold and stagger back, to go down in a sitting position
amongst the furze.
He did not stay there a moment, but rebounded as quickly as if he had
been bumped down violently upon a spring bed.
There the comparison ends, for Pete uttered a yell of agony and rage,
which made him rush again at the lad, grinning like a dog, and meaning
to take a savage revenge. But to his astonishment Tom did not attempt
to run away. He flew to meet him, when there was a sharp encounter,
heavy blows were delivered on either side, and Pete went down, but this
time on the grass.
He was up again directly, clinging still to the belief that his
adversary was horribly afraid, and merely fighting in desperation; and
once more he rushed at Tom, who was quite ready to rush at him.
And then for fully ten minutes there was a succession of desperate
encounters. They were not in the slightest degree scientific; they were
not what people call rounds, and there was no squaring, for everything
was of the most singular description: arms flew about like windmill
sails; fists came in contact with fists, arms, heads, faces, chests, and
at times--in a curly or semi-circular kind of blow--with backs and
shoulders. Now they were up, now they were down; then up again to
close, hitting, wrestling, and going down to continue the hitting on the
ground. Sometimes Tom was undermost, sometimes Pete occupied that
position.
And so the fight went on desperately for the above-named ten minutes, at
the end of which time they went down together with a heavy thud, after
Pete had run in with his head down like a ram, receiving a couple of
heavy cracks, but succeeding in gripping Tom about the waist, and trying
to lift and throw him.
But the long, big, loose-jointed fellow had miscalculated his strength.
Far stronger than Tom at the commencement, his powers had soon begun to
fail, while, though panting heavily, thickset, sturdy, bulldog like Tom
had plenty of force left in him still, the result being that Pete's
effort to lift and throw him proved a failure, ending in a dexterous
wrench throwing him off his balance, and another sending him down with
his adversary upon his chest.
The next minute Tom had extricated himself, Pete's clutch giving way
easily; a leg was dragged out from beneath him, and Tom sat panting on
the grass, ready to spring up if Pete made a movement.
But there was none of an inimical nature, for Pete was completely
beaten, and lay upon his back wagging his head from side to side, and
drawing up and straightening his legs slowly, as if he were a frog
swimming upside down.
Then he began to howl, with the tears streaming out of his eyes; but for
the time being Tom was still too hot, and there was too much of the
natural desire in him to injure his adversary for him to feel any
compassion.
"Do you give in?" he shouted.
"Oh--oh--oh!" yelled Pete, in a hoarse, doleful mingling of cry and
word. "Yer've killed me! yer've killed me!"
"Dead people can't talk," cried Tom tauntingly. "Serve you right if I
had."
Probably this was a bit of hectoring, and not the real feeling,
consequent upon the great state of exaltation to which the fight had
raised him.
"Yer've killed me, yer great coward; yer've killed me!" wailed Pete
again, excitement having probably acted upon his eyes after the fashion
attributed to a horse's, which are said to magnify largely, and made Tom
seem unusually big.
"Coward, am I?" cried Tom, rising. "You get up, and I'll show you."
"Ow--ow--ow! Help! help!"
"Get up," said Tom, giving his adversary a thrust with his foot, and
another and another, feeling a kind of fierce satisfaction in so doing,
for every thrust brought forth a howl.
"Will you get up?" cried Tom.
"I carn't; yer've broke my ribs and killed me--yer coward."
It could not have been after all any magnification of Pete's eyes that
caused him to say this, for Tom now saw, that where the
malicious-looking orbs had been which looked at him so triumphantly a
short time before, there were two tight-looking slits, from which the
great tears were squeezing themselves out, as the humbled tyrant went on
blubbering like a boy of eight or nine.
Tom drew back from his adversary, for the war-fire which Pete had lit in
him was nearly burned out, and his regular nature was coming back to
smooth over the volcanic outburst which had transformed him for the time
being.
"Hope I don't look like that," was his first thought, as he gazed down
at Pete's face as if it were a newly-silvered mirror, and in it saw a
reflection of his own. But as he looked it was dimly, and he felt that
his eyes must be all swollen up, his lips cut against his teeth, his
cheeks puffy, and his nose--
"Ugh!" ejaculated Tom; "how disgusting!"
He put up his hands to his face as the above thought came into his head,
and then shuddered with dismay.
There was no mistake about it, for he knew that if anything he was in a
worse plight than the blubbering young ruffian before him. His hands,
too: not only were they sadly smeared and stained, but the skin was off
his knuckles, and now, as if all at once, he began to tingle, smart, and
ache all over, while a horrible feeling of repentance came over him, and
regret for what had happened.
"What a brute I must look!" he thought; and then, "How terribly I have
knocked him about!"
Then with the feelings of regret and compunction, he began to wonder
whether Pete was seriously hurt.
"Can't be," he thought the next minute; "he makes too much noise," and
he recalled the howlings when the explosion took place at the mill.
"He's thoroughly beaten," Tom said to himself, as he dabbed his bleeding
face and knuckles, growing more sore and stiff minute by minute.
"This is a rum way of trying to make friends, and to improve him," he
thought dismally, as he went on. "Oh dear, what a mess I'm in!"
Just then so dismally prolonged a howl came from Pete, that, without
looking round, Tom cried angrily in his pain--
"Don't make that row; I'm as bad as you. Come: get up."
He turned then to enforce his order with a little stirring up with his
foot, but a sharp snarl made him start back in wonder, for there, after
creeping quietly up among the furze, was Pete's thin cur seated upon his
master's chest, and ready to defend him now against any one's approach.
"Well done, dog!" thought Tom. "I never liked you before. Here then,
old fellow," he cried aloud, as he thought of the way in which the
master used the dog, brutally as a rule. "I'm not going to hurt him.
Let's get him to sit up."
But the dog barked fiercely as it rose on four legs, and showed its
teeth, while Tom pressed a hand over one eye, tried to keep the other
open, and burst out laughing at the sight before him.
"Oh dear! I mustn't laugh, it hurts so," he cried; and then he laughed
again. For there was Pete's distorted comically swollen face in the
bright sunshine, and in front of it the dog's, puffed up in the most
extraordinary one-sided manner, making the head look like some fancy
sketch of a horrible monster drawn by an artist in fun.
"It must be from the adder's bite," thought Tom, as a feeling of
compassion was extended now to the dog, who, in spite of his menaces,
looked giddy and half stupefied.
"Here, are you going to lie howling there all day?" cried Tom.
"Ow--ow--ow! I want a doctor," groaned the lad; and he threw out his
arms and legs again, nearly dislodging the dog from his chest.
"No, you don't," cried Tom. "Here then, old fellow, let's look at your
nose," he said softly, as he advanced closer, and the dog snarled again,
but not so fiercely.
"Get out! I don't want to hurt you," said Tom gently. "Let's have a
look at your nose then."
The dog looked up at him with one eye,--the other was completely shut,--
and Tom put his hand closer. Then the poor animal uttered a faint howl,
not unlike his master's; and as Tom touched the swollen side of its
head, it leaned it heavily in his hand, and whined softly, looking up
piteously the while.
"Poor old chap then!" said Tom, forgetting his own sufferings as the dog
stepped slowly off its master's chest, staggered, and then leaned up
against the friendly legs so near, drooping head and tail the while.
"Here, Pete," cried Tom excitedly, "your dog's dying."
"Eh?" cried Pete, sitting up suddenly, and looking very like the poor
brute as he managed to open one eye.
"That adder bit him. Look at his swollen head."
"So it has," said Pete. "Come here, young un!"
But the dog did not stir.
"Where's there some water?" said Tom.
"Down by the ford," replied Pete, quietly enough now.
"People would see us there. Is there none nearer?"
"There's some in the frog pond," replied Pete.
"Stop a minute; I know," said Tom. "Ah, poor old chap, then!" he cried
excitedly, for the dog suddenly gave a lurch and fell upon its side.
"I say," cried Pete wildly, as he rose to his knees, and caught hold of
one of the forelegs; "he arn't going to croak, is he?"
"I don't know; I'm afraid so. But look here, the adder's bite was
poison; wouldn't it do good to let some of the poison out?"
"Does good if you've got a thorn in your foot," said Pete, who seemed to
have forgotten all about his broken ribs, and the fact that he was
dying.
"Shall I open the place with my sharp penknife?"
"Couldn't do no harm."
Tom hesitated a moment, and took hold of the dog's muzzle, when the poor
brute whined softly, looked at him with its half-closed eyes, and made a
feeble effort to lick his hand.
Tom hesitated no longer. He opened the keen blade of his penknife,
raised the dog's head upon his knee, and examined a whitish spot
terribly swollen round, upon the dog's black nose.
"Mind he don't bite yer," said Pete, in a tone full of caution.
Tom looked at him sharply. "He has got some good in him after all," he
thought.
"That's where the adder bit him," continued Pete. "I was bit once in
the leg, and my! it was bad for days. Mind--he'll bite."
"No, he won't," said Tom firmly. "Poor old fellow, then. It's to do it
good."
As he spoke he thrust the knife point right into the centre of the white
patch, fully half an inch; and the dog, utterly stupefied by the poison,
or else from some misty knowledge that it was being helped, hardly
winced, but lay with one eye open, looking up at Tom, who laid the head
down upon the grass. For a few moments there was nothing to see but the
little gaping cut. Then a tiny drop of black blood appeared, then very
slowly another, and soon after a little thread of discoloured blood
trickled gently away.
"He's a-goin' to croak," said Pete hoarsely, and he looked in an
agonised way at Tom.
"I hope not. That may do him good."
"But oughtn't you to tie it up with a handkychy?"
"No; that must be better out of him. I say, look here--can't you carry
him to that hole of yours under the fir-trees?"
Pete looked at him sharply.
"Well, I know where it is," said Tom. "If you lay him down there, out
of the sun, perhaps he'll get better."
Pete nodded, and passing his hands under the dog, lifted it in his arms,
to begin tramping through the furze-bushes toward the distant pines,
from which he had seen and stalked Tom not so long before.
"Shall I come with you?" said Tom.
"If yer like," was the reply, and Tom followed; and when after a time
Pete stopped to rest, he relieved him, and carried the dog for some
distance, holding it too when the pit was reached, and Pete lowered
himself down to take it, and creep in with it to place it on his
fir-needle bed.
Tom followed, and the two lads knelt there in the semi-darkness looking
at the patient, which lay for some minutes just as it had been placed.
"He is a-going to croak," said Pete suddenly, for the door gave a feeble
whine, and then stretched itself out.
"No, he isn't--he's going to sleep," said Tom, for the dog yawned, and
then curled itself up tightly, apparently falling into a stupor at once,
for it did not stir.
"Perhaps he'll come round," said Tom, backing out of the hole. "Now,
show me where the nearest water is."
"It ain't fur now," said Pete, following him. "It's where I gets water
to drink;" and starting off for the edge of the fir-wood, Tom followed,
feeling puzzled at the change that had come over the scene.