insolent swagger, a small boy on the other
side of the street discharged a Roman candle at him point-blank. One of
the fiery balls struck his right side and dropped into the open pocket
of his coat, starting a lively blaze. The garment got a smart
scorching, and Percy's fingers were burnt and his feelings badly ruffled
before he succeeded in extinguishing the conflagration.

Singling out the offender among a group of boys dancing delightedly up
and down, Percy made a sudden rush and pounced upon him like a hawk on a
chicken. Holding him by the collar, he cuffed his ears soundly. The
criminal wriggled and twisted, loudly and tearfully protesting his
innocence.

A stocky, freckled lad of about eighteen, with a close-cut head of brown
hair, came out of a neighboring house on the run. His snub nose and
projecting jaw suggested a human bulldog. He thrust his face close up to
Percy's.

"What're you maulin' my brother for?" he demanded, truculently.

Percy dropped his victim, having finished chastising him. The latter
rubbed his eyes and howled louder than ever.

"I asked you why you were maulin' my brother," reiterated the newcomer
in a still more belligerent tone.

"Because he burned this hole in my coat," replied Percy, exhibiting the
damaged garment.

"I didn't do it!" howled the boy.

"You hear that?" exclaimed the freckled lad, angrily. "He says he didn't
and I say he didn't."

"Well, I say he did!"

"Do you mean to tell me I lie?"

Percy became suddenly aware that a ring was forming round him. He cast a
hasty glance about the lowering faces and recognized some of his
would-be hecklers of the afternoon. No Tarpaulin Islanders were there.
He was a stranger in a strange land. But the Whittington in him was up,
and he did not blench. He faced his questioner.

"If you say he didn't burn that hole--yes!"

An indignant chorus rose from the group.

"Did you hear that, Jabe? He called you a liar. I wouldn't stand that.
Make him eat those words! It's the fresh guy who made the cheap talk at
the ball-game. Soak him! Do him up!"

Spurred on by these exhortations, Jabe dropped his head between his
shoulders and came at his enemy with the rush of a mad bull.

Percy was a good boxer. He had taken lessons from several first-class
sparring-masters, and would have been no mean antagonist for anybody of
his age and weight. But Jabe was a year older and fully twenty-five
pounds heavier. Evidently, too, he had the abou