Bob had learned much street slang during his visits to Cottonton, and considered its acquisition a benefit and its use an accomplishment. “You've said it. Now sneeze it, and dust your brain.” Mary regarded him with astonishment. “I don't understand such language, Mr. Wood. What do you mean? I haven't a cold in my head.” Bob laughed insolently. “No, but you've got a cold heart. What I meant by my French was that you're bluffing. If you ain't eighteen, I'm a primary school boy.” “Then you don't believe me!” Mary's blue eyes opened to their fullest extent. Bob thought those blue eyes and light brown hair, golden in the sunlight, those rosy cheeks, and pretty mouth made a most attractive picture, and, in his rough way, he really loved her. “I'm going home,” said Mary, “and I shall tell my father you said I lied to you.” “No, you don't,” cried Bob, and he grasped her arm so tightly that she winced. “You don't go until you promise me not to say anything to your father.” “I won't promise!” Hot tears filled her eyes. “Then you don't go,” and Bob tightened his grip. The next moment a hand clutched his coat collar and he was thrown violently on his back. Bob, who was agile, was quickly on his feet again and faced his assailant. “Oh, that's you, Sawyer, is it? Why do you interfere with what's none of your business?” “I think it is,” said Quincy, calmly. “My, friend and I--” He turned, and at that moment Tom emerged from behind a clump of bushes at the roadside. “My friend and I,” Quincy repeated, “were behind those bushes and overheard your insulting language to this young lady and your brutal treatment of her.” “Hiding to see what you could hear,” said Bob, sneeringly. “Not at all. We came 'cross lots and were just stepping into the road when we espied you, and retreated, awaiting your departure.” “Very prettily said, Master Sawyer, but I don't believe a word of it.” “You called this young lady a liar and she was powerless to resent it, but I'm not. Tom, hold my coat.” “Oh, please don't fight,” pleaded Mary. “I'll never speak to him again.” “Say, Quincy,” exclaimed Tom, “he's too heavily built for you. Let me tackle him.” “Two to one! I s'pose that's what you city snobs call fair play.” Bob removed his coat and threw it on the ground. “If you'll come one at a time, I'll lick you both.” Quincy addressed Mary. “Don't be distressed. You may pardon his offence to you if you choose, but I'm going to settle my personal account with him. He doubted my word. I'm going to make him believe what I said, and by that time he'll be ready to apologize to you.” Bob squared off, but Quincy did not raise his hands. “Are you 'fraid? Don't you know how to put up your dukes?” “I'm not a boxer,” said Quincy, “if that's what you mean. I'll look out for myself, rough and tumble.”