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 rather slowly, and his voice was singularly without embarrassment for a boy who heard himself discussed in such a manner. His voice was not loud and Lydia recalled the steadiness of it afterward when she reviewed the scene.

“You’d better go,” he said to Crane. “I’m not going to lick you now… but don’t ever say that again. Don‘’t call me names to anybody….” That was all. No more was necessary. It stated his position clearly and unalterably. Angus Burke was never given to uttering unnecessary words.

Lydia kept silence, but she drew a long breath. She was impressed, became conscious of a strength in this boy, saw that it was Angus and not herself who dominated the situation. She stole a look at his face, visible in the half light which glowed from the open door. Its apathy was gone, its dullness had vanished—to be replaced by an intentness, a grimness of determination which almost frightened her.

Young Crane backed down the steps ignominiously, reached the walk, and without a word turned and walked down the street, slowly, slowly, as one walks who is afraid but who is more afraid of showing that he is afraid…. Angus moved his feet uneasily, and his hands passed up and down the seams of his trousers