"Jersey City."
These two sentences completed the first section of the formal code.
The second section concerned itself with the establishment of the
new-comer's exact position in the neighborhood.
"I kin lick you," announced Willie Dalzel, and awaited the answer.
The Hedge boy had stared at Willie Dalzel, but he stared at him again.
After a pause he said, "I know you kin."
"Well," demanded Willie, "kin _he_ lick you?" And he indicated Jimmie
Trescott with a sweep which announced plainly that Jimmie was the next
in prowess.
Whereupon the new boy looked at Jimmie respectfully but carefully, and
at length said, "I dun'no'."
This was the signal for an outburst of shrill screaming, and everybody
pushed Jimmie forward. He knew what he had to say, and, as befitted
the occasion, he said it fiercely: "Kin you lick me?"
The new boy also understood what he had to say, and, despite his
unhappy and lonely state, he said it bravely: "Yes."
"Well," retorted Jimmie, bluntly, "come out and do it, then! Jest come
out and do it!" And these words were greeted with cheers. These little
rascals yelled that there should be a fight at once. They were in
bliss over the prospect. "Go on, Jim! Make 'im come out. He said he
could lick you. Aw-aw-aw! He said he could lick you!" There probably
never was a fight among this class in Whilomville which was not the
result of the goading and guying of two proud lads by a populace of
urchins who simply wished to see a show.
Willie Dalzel was very busy. He turned first to the one and then to
the other. "You said you could lick him. Well, why don't you come out
and do it, then? You said you could lick him, didn't you?"
"Yes," answered the new boy, dogged and dubious.
Willie tried to drag Jimmie by the arm. "Aw, go on, Jimmie! You ain't
afraid, are you?"
"No," said Jimmie.
The two victims opened wide eyes at each other. The fence separated
them, and so it was impossible for them to immediately engage; but
they seemed to understand that they were ultimately to be sacrificed
to the ferocious aspirations of the other boys, and each scanned the
other to learn something of his spirit. They were not angry at all.
They were merely two little gladiators who were being clamorously told
to hurt each other. Each displayed hesitation and doubt without
displaying fear. They did not exactly understand what were their
feelings, and they moodily kicked the ground and made low and sullen
answers to Willie Dalzel, who worked like a circus-manager.
"Aw, go on, Jim! What's the matter with you? You ain't afraid, are
you? Well, then, say something." This sentiment received more cheering
from the abandoned little wretches who wished to be entertained, and
in this cheering there could be heard notes of derision of Jimmie
Trescott. The latter had a position to sustain; he was well known; he
often bragged of his willingness and ability to thrash other boys;
well, then, here was a boy of his size who said that he could not
thrash him. What was he going to do about it? The crowd made these
arguments very clear, and repeated them again and again.
Finally Jimmie, driven to aggression, walked close to the fence and
said to the new boy, "The first time I catch you out of your own yard
I'll lam the head off'n you!" This was received with wild plaudits by
the Whilomville urchins.
But the new boy stepped back from the fence. He was awed by Jimmie's
formidable mien. But he managed to get out a semi-defiant sentence.
"Maybe you will, and maybe you won't," said he.
However, his short retreat was taken as a practical victory for
Jimmie, and the boys hooted him bitterly. He remained inside the
fence, swinging one foot and scowling, while Jimmie was escorted off
down the street amid acclamations. The new boy turned and walked back
towards the house, his face gloomy, lined deep with discouragement, as
if he felt that the new environment's antagonism and palpable cruelty
were sure to prove too much for him.