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Updated: May 26, 2025
Two-feet-ten said this in a hesitating tone, and shrank into its ordinary proportions as it continued "But I didn't lick him, mother, he licked me. But I'll try again, mother indeed I will, and I'll be sure to lick him next time." "I don't want you to try again," rejoined Mrs Marston; "and you must not try again without a good reason. Why did you fight him yesterday?"
"How?" inquired Two-feet-ten eagerly. "By letting it boil over till it put the fire out." The object opened its eyes very wide, and pursed its mouth very tight; then it relaxed, grinned a little with an air of uncertainty, and was about to laugh, but checked itself, and, with a look of perplexity, said "Eh?" "Ay, my boy," resumed the mother, "just you try the boiling-over plan next time.
The object of two-feet-ten began to swell and his eyes to brighten at the unexpected success of this catechising of its mother, and went on to say "Well, mother, why do you blame me for fightin', then, if it's right?" "Because fighting is not always right, my boy. You had a fight with Bill Summers, hadn't you, yesterday?" "Yes, mother."
Mrs Marston smiled to see the rotund little object of two-feet-ten standing before the fire with its legs apart and its arms crossed, putting such a question, and replied "Certainly, my boy." "And when Tom Blake offered to hit Susy Jefferson, wasn't I right to fight him for that?" "Yes, my boy, I think it right to fight in defence of the weak and helpless."
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