They struck at each other, clinched, and rolled over on the
cobble stones.

"Smash 'im, Jimmie, kick deh damn guts out of 'im," yelled Pete,
the lad with the chronic sneer, in tones of delight.

The small combatants pounded and kicked, scratched and tore.
They began to weep and their curses struggled in their throats with
sobs. The other little boys clasped their hands and wriggled their
legs in excitement. They formed a bobbing circle about the pair.

A tiny spectator was suddenly agitated.

"Cheese it, Jimmie, cheese it! Here comes yer fader," he yelled.

The circle of little boys instantly parted. They drew away
and waited in ecstatic awe for that which was about to happen.
The two little boys fighting in the modes of four thousand years ago,
did not hear the warning.

Up the avenue there plodded slowly a man with sullen eyes.
He was carrying a dinner pail and smoking an apple-wood pipe.

As he neared the spot where the little boys strove, he
regarded them listlessly. But suddenly he roared an oath and
advanced upon the rolling fighters.

"Here, you Jim, git up, now, while I belt yer life out,
you damned disorderly brat."