Usually they were an unselfish, good-natured,
yielding little race, sharing short commons when it happened (which
was pretty often) contentedly and even generously, and taking a
great deal of enjoyment out of a very little meat. But they were
fighting now, not only for the soap and water, but even for the
breakfast which was yet in perspective. The hand of every little
Tetterby was against the other little Tetterbys; and even Johnny's
hand - the patient, much-enduring, and devoted Johnny - rose
against the baby! Yes, Mrs. Tetterby, going to the door by mere
accident, saw him viciously pick out a weak place in the suit of
armour where a slap would tell, and slap that blessed child.
Mrs. Tetterby had him into the parlour by the collar, in that same
flash of time, and repaid him the assault with usury thereto.
"You brute, you murdering little boy," said Mrs. Tetterby. "Had
you the heart to do it?"
"Why don't her teeth come through, then," retorted Johnny, in a
loud rebellious voice, "instead of bothering me? How would you
like it yourself?"
"Like it, sir!" said Mrs. Tetterby, relieving him of his
dishonoured load.
"Yes, like it," said Johnny. "How would you? Not at all. If you
was me, you'd go for a soldier. I will, too. There an't no babies
in the Army.
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