hat's nothing to do with it," growled Jaap, taken aback. "You say
you're going to punch my head."

But Addie, in a flash, remembered the boy and that shout in the street
near the school:

"Out with it!" he cried. "Why do you call me an Italian?"

Chris and Piet tried to smooth things over:

"Come, don't bother; he's talking rot."

"But why an Italian?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing!"

"Yes, there's something. I mean to know!"

"Keep your hair on; it's nothing."

"Out with it!" cried Addie, scarlet with rage. And he flew at Jaap's
throat.

"Oh, hang it! Shut up!" shouted the two others.

But Jaap and Addie were struggling. Their boyish hatred suddenly burst
forth:

"Out with it! Why do you call me an Italian?"

Addie was very strong, stronger than Jaap, who was a year and a half
older than he and taller. He got him down: his small, hard knuckles were
at Jaap's throat; and he was nearly strangling him. The others pulled
him off:

"That'll do, I say! Shut up!"

They pulled Addie away from Jaap; and now Jaap, furious because he had
been beaten, purple in the face, half choking, unable to control his
hate, cried out:

"Because you're not the son of your father!"

"Hold your jaw!" shouted Piet and Chris to Jaap.

But the word was spoken and Addie was like a madman:

"You hound! You hound!" he yelled.

And he tried to fling himself on Jaap again.

The two other boys held him back. And a sudden reasonableness came to
soothe Addie's passion: he must not let himself go like that, against
that cur of a Jaap. When that young bounder lost his temper, he didn't
know what he shouted and raved, "Italian!" and "Not the son of your
father!" Addie shrugged his shoulders:

"I've had enough of cycling with you chaps. I can spend my Sundays
better than in tormenting cats and quarrelling and fighting."

And he sprang on his bicycle and rode away.

"Italian!" Jaap screamed after him once more, forgetting everything,
except his hatred.

Addie looked round; and he saw that Chris and Piet, both furious, were
thrashing the very life out of Jaap.

He rode away, mastering his nerves. No, he could never again, to please
Mamma, spoil his Sunday holiday with those cads of boys. This was the
last time, for good and all! Besides, he felt that they liked him as
little as he them. And then, suddenly, his thoughts went back to the
strange word, the word of abuse, and to the boy who, once before, had
shouted it after him in the s