."

Then they rushed out of the dark cellar, where the Laemkes lived, in
high spirits.

It was so light in the street, the sun shone brightly, a fresh wind
was blowing and somebody was flying a kite far away across the field.
There were very few people on foot and no carriages. The road belonged
to them, and they rushed to it with a loud hallo. The one who reached
the lamp-post at the corner first was captain.

Wolfgang had never allowed anyone to deprive him of this honour
before, but he had to be policeman to-day, he had been the last. He had
followed the others slowly and silently. He had got something in his
head to think about, which made him dull and hindered him from running;
he had to think about it the whole time. He could not get rid of it
even when he was in the midst of his favourite game; the only time he
forgot it was when he was having a good scuffle with Hans Flebbe. The
latter had scratched him in the face, and so he tore a handful of his
hair out. They gripped hold of each other near the next garden-gate.

Artur, a feeble little creature, had not taken part in the fight,
but he stood with his hands in his pockets giving advice in a
screeching voice to the two who fought in silence.

"Give him it hard, Flebbe. Your fist under his nose--hard."

"On with you, Wolfgang. Settle him. Show him what you can do."

Frida hopped from one leg to the other, laughing, her fair plait
dancing on her back. But all at once her laugh became somewhat
forced and anxious: Hans, who was several years older than Wolfgang,
had got him down on the ground and was hammering him in the face with
his fist.

"Flebbe, you--!" She pulled his blouse, and as that did not help she
nimbly put her foot out. He stumbled over it, and Wolfgang, quickly
taking advantage of it, swung himself up and belaboured his enemy.

It was no game any longer, no ordinary scuffle between two boys.
Wolfgang felt his face burn like fire, he had a scratch on his cheek
that went down to his chin, there were sparks before his eyes. All that
had made him so silent before was forgotten, he felt a wild delight and
gave a loud roar.

"Wolfgang, Wolfgang, no, that's not fair," cried the umpire. "That's
no longer fun." Artur prepared to catch hold of Wolfgang, who was
kneeling on his opponent's chest, by his two legs.

A jerk and off he flew. Wolf now turned against him, trembling with
rage; his black eyes gleamed. This was no longer a well-dressed child