“Who you callin' 'bo?” was the ungracious response, accompanied by immediate action of a similar nature. Rupe held Penrod's head in the crook of an elbow and massaged his temples with a hard-pressing knuckle. “I was only in fun, Rupie,” pleaded the sufferer, and then, being set free, “Come here, Sam,” he said. “What for?” Penrod laughed pityingly. “Pshaw, I ain't goin' to hurt you. Come on.” Sam, maintaining his position near the other door, Penrod went to him and caught him round the neck. “Watch me, Rupie!” Penrod called, and performed upon Sam the knuckle operation which he had himself just undergone, Sam submitting mechanically, his eyes fixed with increasing uneasiness upon Rupe Collins. Sam had a premonition that something even more painful than Penrod's knuckle was going to be inflicted upon him. “THAT don' hurt,” said Penrod, pushing him away. “Yes, it does, too!” Sam rubbed his temple. “Puh! It didn't hurt me, did it, Rupie? Come on in, Rupe: show this baby where he's got a wart on his finger.” “You showed me that trick,” Sam objected. “You already did that to me. You tried it twice this afternoon and I don't know how many times before, only you weren't strong enough after the first time. Anyway, I know what it is, and I don't----” “Come on, Rupe,” said Penrod. “Make the baby lick dirt.” At this bidding, Rupe approached, while Sam, still protesting, moved to the threshold of the outer door; but Penrod seized him by the shoulders and swung him indoors with a shout. “Little baby wants to run home to its Mom-muh! Here he is, Rupie.” Thereupon was Penrod's treachery to an old comrade properly rewarded, for as the two struggled, Rupe caught each by the back of the neck, simultaneously, and, with creditable impartiality, forced both boys to their knees. “Lick dirt!” he commanded, forcing them still forward, until their faces were close to the stable floor. At this moment he received a real surprise. With a loud whack something struck the back of his head, and, turning, he beheld Verman in the act of lifting a piece of lath to strike again. “Em moys ome!” said Verman, the Giant Killer. “He tongue-tie',” Herman explained. “He say, let 'em boys alone.” Rupe addressed his host briefly: “Chase them nigs out o' here!” “Don' call me nig,” said Herman. “I mine my own biznuss. You let 'em boys alone.” Rupe strode across the still prostrate Sam, stepped upon Penrod, and, equipping his countenance with the terrifying scowl and protruded jaw, lowered his head to the level of Herman's. “Nig, you'll be lucky if you leave here alive!” And he leaned forward till his nose was within less than an inch of Herman's nose.