and hit out in return. He had weight in his favour. He tried to bend Roy
backwards; and failing began to kick viciously wherever he could get at
him. It hurt rather badly and made Roy angrier than ever. In a white
heat of rage, he shook and pummelled, regardless of choking sounds and
fingers clutching at his hair....

Tara, half excited and half frightened, could only grab Prince's collar,
to keep him from rushing into the fray; and when Joe started kicking, it
was all she could do not to let him go. But she knew Athol--her dearest
brother--would say it wasn't fair play. So she tugged, and Prince
tugged; while the boys, fiercely silent, rocked to and fro; and
Christine sobbed piteously--"He's hurting Roy--he's _killing_ Roy!"

Tara, fully occupied with Prince, could only jerk out: "Don't be a baby,
Chris. Roy's all right. He loves it." Which Christine simply didn't
believe. There was blood on his tussore shirt. It mightn't be his, but
still----

It made even Tara feel rather sick; and when a young gardener appeared
on the scene she called out: "Oh, Mudford, do stop them--or something'll
happen."

But Mudford--British to the bone--would do nothing of the kind. He saw
at once that Roy was getting the better of an opponent nearly twice his
weight; and setting down his barrow he shamelessly applauded his young
master.

By now, the enemy's nose was bleeding freely and spoiling the brand-new
blazer. He gasped and spluttered: "Drop it, you little beast!" But Roy,
fired by Mudford's applause, only hit out harder.