Penrod was stung. "Do you mean ME?" he demanded.
"Yes, I do!" the goaded Sam replied.
"Did you tell ME to hush up?"
"Yes, I did!"
"I guess you don't know who you're talkin' to," Penrod asid ominously. "I guess I just better show you who you're talkin' to like that. I guess you need a little sumpthing, for the main and simple--"
Sam uttered an uncontrollable howl and sprang upon Penrod, catching him round the waist. Simultaneously with this impact, the wooden swords spun through the air and were presently trodden underfoot as the two boys wrestled to and fro.
Penrod was not altogether surprised by the onset of his friend.
He had been aware of Sam's increasing irritation (though neither boy could have clearly stated its cause) and that very irritation produced a corresponding emotion in the bosom of the irritator.
Mentally, Penrod was quite ready for the conflict--nay, he welcomed it--though, for the first few moments, Sam had the physical advantage.
However, it is proper that a neat distinction be drawn here. This was a conflict; but neither technically nor in the intention of the contestants was it a fight. Penrod and Sam were both in a state of high exasperation, and there was great bitterness; but no blows fell and no tears. They strained, they wrenched, they twisted, and they panted and muttered: "Oh, no, you don't!" "Oh, I guess I do!" "Oh, you will, will you?" "You'll see what you get in about a minute!" "I guess you'll learn some sense this time!"