uld get away.
Charles intended crossing the river to get pawpaws. A pawpaw is an
easily mashed fruit, three or four inches long, with a tough skin
inclosing a very liquid pulp full of seeds, and about as solid as a
cream puff, when it is dead ripe. It grows on a low, stunted bush-like
tree.

We were mighty fond of pawpaws, but little fellows as we were didn't
dare to cross the river and venture into "Slab Town" or its vicinity,
for such an excursion within its territory usually provoked a fight
with the young ruffians of that hamlet, who hated the village boys as
aristocrats.

"You'd better not go over there, Charles," we advised him timorously.
"Those Slab Town boys will take your pawpaws away from you."

I can see now the chesty movement with which Charles stuck out his
breast, threw back his shoulders, curved inward and swung his arms, and
went away basket in hand, remarking in a lordly manner; "Aw, who's
goin' to take _my_ pawpaws?"

{328} It was evening when the rash youth returned. He came slinking up
the back alley in a vain endeavor to elude observation, but we had a
number of his and our friends on the watch for him--to see that he
returned safely, of course--and we gave him a royal greeting. We had
been true prophets, though without honor in Charles's sight. The Slab
Town boys had taken his pawpaws in a spirit of aggressive
appropriation, which was bad enough, but with rare and unusual
generosity they had afterward returned them to Charles. They had not
put them back in his basket, however, but had heaped them
indiscriminately upon his person. It appears that he must have run for
miles pursued by a howling mob of all the ruffians over there, engaged
in the happy pastime of throwing soft, mushy pawpaws at him. Charles
could hardly see; in fact he could hardly walk. He was plastered with
pawpaws from his head to his feet.

Thereafter when we wanted to provoke a fight, all that was necessary
when the unappreciated portion of his name was flung at him and was not
sufficient to awaken his ire, was to throw out our chests, hold back
our shoulders, curve our arms and say in a throaty voice, "Who's going
to take _my_ pawpaws?"

I feel tempted to use the old phrase in certain modern circumstances
to-day when it seems to fit some bold and reckless endeavor. I have
never forgotten Charles's "who's-goin'-to-take-_my_-pawpaws" air!

We were sometimes able to get a little money together by doing odd
jobs