Claire won't think him the nicest boy in town now. The
thief! I'd like--
But what he would like was never known, for with a spring Arthur bounded
toward him, and seizing him by the coat collar, shook him vigorously,
while he exclaimed:
'Coward and liar! Harold Hastings is not a thief! No child of Amy
Crawford could ever be a thief, and if you say that again, or even
insinuate it to any living being, I'll break every bone in your body. Do
you understand?'
'Yes, sir; no sir, I won't; I won't,' Tom gasped, as well as he could,
with his head bobbing forward and back so rapidly that his teeth cut
into his under lip.
'But _I_ shall,' Peterkin roared. 'I'll have the young dog arrested,
too, if he don't own up and give up.'
There was a wicked look in Arthur's black eyes, which he fastened upon
Peterkin, as he said;
'What does it all mean, sir? Will you please explain?'
'Yes, in double quick time,' replied Peterkin, a little nettled by
Arthur's manner, which he could not understand. 'You see, me and Mary
Jane was early to the doin's; fust ones, in fact, for when your invite
says half past seven it means it, I take it. Wall, we was here on time,
and Mary Jane has been on a tear ever since, and says Miss St. Claire
nor none of the big bugs didn't come till nine, which I take is
imperlite, don't you?'
'Never mind, we are not discussing etiquette.
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