preparatory for the fray.

"Git ready," he said to Joe.

Joe's knuckles were torn, his nose was bleeding, his lip was cut and
swollen, while his shirt had been ripped down from throat to waist.
Further, he was tired, and breathing hard.

"How many more are there of you Simpsons?" he asked. "I 've got to
get home, and if your family 's much larger this thing is liable
to keep on all night."

"I 'm the last an' the best," Reddy replied. "You gits me an' you
gits the kites. Sure."

"All right," Joe sighed. "Come on."

While the youngest of the clan lacked the strength and skill of his
elders, he made up for it by a wildcat manner of fighting that taxed
Joe severely. Time and again it seemed to him that he must give in
to the little whirlwind; but each time he pulled himself together
and went doggedly on. For he felt that he was fighting for principle,
as his forefathers had fought for principle; also, it seemed to him that
the honor of the Hill was at stake, and that he, as its representative,
could do nothing less than his very best.

So he held on and managed to endure his opponent's swift and continuous
rushes till that young and less experienced person at last wore himself
out with his own exertions, and from the ground confessed that, for the
first time in its history, the "Simpson fambly was beat."