Dora Yocum, Dora Yocum, Dora Yocum!--"
"All right, then you're a pup!"
Ramsey charged upon him and received a suffocating blow full in the
face, not from Mr. Bender's fist but from the solid bundle of books
at the end of the strap. Ramsey saw eight or ten objectives instantly:
there were Wesley Benders standing full length in the air on top of
other Wesley Benders, and more Wesley Benders zigzagged out sideways
from still other Wesley Benders; nevertheless, he found one of these and
it proved to be flesh. He engaged it wildly at fisticuffs; pounded
it upon the countenance and drove it away. Then he sat down upon the
curbstone, and, with his dizzy eyes shut, leaned forward for the better
accommodation of his ensanguined nose.
Wesley had retreated to the other side of the street holding a grimy
handkerchief to the midmost parts of his pallid face. "There, you ole
damn pup!" he shouted, in a voice which threatened to sob. "I guess
_that'll_ teach you to be careful how you mention Dora Yocum's name on
the public streets!"
At this, Ramsey made a motion as if to rise and pursue, whereupon Wesley
fled, wailing back over his shoulder as he ran, "You wait till I ketch
you out alone on the public streets and I'll--"
His voice was lost in an outburst of hooting from his former friends,
who sympathetically surrounded the wounded Ramsey.
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