As William walked down the back street, which led by a short cut to
their meeting-place, he unconsciously assumed an arrogant strut,
suggestive of some warrior prince surrounded by his gallant braves.
"Garn! _Swank_!"
He turned with a dark scowl.
On a doorstep sat a little girl, gazing up at him with blue eyes
beneath a tousled mop of auburn hair.
William's eye travelled sternly from her Titian curls to her bare
feet. He assumed a threatening attitude and scowled fiercely.
"You better not say _that_ again," he said darkly.
"Why not?" she said with a jeering laugh.
"Well, you'd just better _not_," he said with a still more ferocious
scowl.
"What'd you do?" she persisted.
He considered for a moment in silence. Then: "You'd see what I'd do!"
he said ominously.
"Garn! _Swank_!" she repeated. "Now do it! Go on, do it!"
"I'll--let you off _this_ time," he said judicially.
"Garn! _Softie_. You can't do anything, you can't! You're a softie!"
"I could cut your head off an' scalp you an' leave you hanging on a
tree, I could," he said fiercely, "an' I will, too, if you go on
calling me names."
"_Softie! Swank!_ Now cut it off! Go on!"
He looked down at her mocking blue eyes.
"You're jolly lucky I don't start on you," he said threateningly.
"Folks I do start on soon get sorry, I can tell you."
[Illustration: "GARN! SWANK!" WILLIAM TURNED WITH A DARK SCOWL.]
"What you do to them?"
He changed the subject abruptly.
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