Page:Man's Country (1923).pdf/11



ID."

"Didn't."

"A wagon without any horse! It rolled right by me—lickety split."

"You're a darn liar!"

Bim! In the thickening dusk of an April night in the middle nineties, on a suburban street of the city of Detroit, two half-grown brothers leaped upon each other and fought, scratching, kicking, pommeling.

"George-e-e-e-ee! . . . Jimmee-e-e--ee! . . . Sup-per-r-r-r."

Borne upon the breath of a mother who was blissfully unaware what emprise engaged her sons at the moment, these words, with affectionate appeal in every syllable, floated out of a small cottage, from the side-door and one front window of which light was streaming.

At the gladsome call the battlers gave off the conflict abruptly and raced each other for the wash-basin which stood on a bench in the lean-