At last I stopped him; he ceased trying to get away and began to
struggle. It was better still; it was resistance. But he was
stronger than I; though I was quicker he managed to get my by the
shoulders, to force me back, and finally to upset me. Then in the
stolid way, and after the manner of fat boys, he sat upon my
chest. When our startled mothers came upon the scene they so found
us--I upon my back, clinching my teeth and threatening all the
dire fates of childhood, and he waiting either for assistance or
until my ire should retire sufficiently to allow him to release me
in safety.

"Who did it? Who started it?"

That I remember plainly.

"Hobart, did you do this?" The fat boy backed off quietly and
clung to his mother; but he did not answer.

"Hobart, did you start this?"

Still no answer.

"Harry, this was you; you started it. Didn't you try to hurt
Hobart?"

I nodded.

My mother took me by the hand and drew me away.