Now, though Dick was far from quarrelsome, he was ready to defend
himself on all occasions, and it was too much to expect that he
would stand quiet and allow himself to be beaten.
He dropped his blacking-box on the instant, and returned Micky's
blow with such good effect that the young bully staggered back, and
would have fallen, if he had not been propped up by his confederate,
Limpy Jim.
"Go in, Micky!" shouted the latter, who was rather a coward on his
own account, but liked to see others fight. "Polish him off, that's
a good feller."
Micky was now boiling over with rage and fury, and required no
urging. He was fully determined to make a terrible example of poor
Dick. He threw himself upon him, and strove to bear him to the
ground; but Dick, avoiding a close hug, in which he might possibly
have got the worst of it, by an adroit movement, tripped up his
antagonist, and stretched him on the side walk.
"Hit him, Jim!" exclaimed Micky, furiously.
Limpy Jim did not seem inclined to obey orders. There was a quiet
strength and coolness about Dick, which alarmed him. He preferred
that Micky should incur all the risks of battle, and accordingly set
himself to raising his fallen comrade.
"Come, Micky," said Dick, quietly, "you'd better give it up. I
wouldn't have touched you if you hadn't hit me first. I don't want
to fight. It's low business."
"You're afraid of hurtin' your clo'es," said Micky, with a sneer.
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