e. They whined it, they catcalled it,
they shrieked it in falsetto imitation of Clarence's mother. He was a
wide-mouthed, sallow and pindling little boy, whose pipe-stemmed legs
looked all the thinner for being contrasted with his feet, which were
long and narrow. At that time he wore spectacles, too, to correct a
muscular weakness, so that his one good feature--great soft, liquid
eyes--passed unnoticed. He was the kind of little boy whose mother
insists on dressing him in cloth-top, buttoned, patent-leather shoes for
school. His blue serge suit was never patched or shiny. His stockings
were virgin at the knee. He wore an overcoat on cool autumn days. Fanny
despised and pitied him. We ask you not to, because in this puny, shy
and ugly little boy of fifteen you behold Our Hero.

He staggered to his feet now, as Fanny came up. His school reefer was
mud-bespattered. His stockings were torn. His cap was gone and his hair
was wild. There was a cut or scratch on one cheek, from which the blood
flowed.

"I'll tell my mother on you!" he screamed impotently, and shook with
rage and terror. "You'll see, you will! You let me alone, now!"

Fanny felt a sick sensation at the pit of her stomach and in her throat.
Then:

"He'll tell his ma!" sneered the boys in chorus. "Oh, mamma!" And called
him the Name. And at that a she wildcat broke loose among them. She
pounced on them without warning, a little fury of blazing eyes and
flying hair, and white teeth showing in a snarl. If she had fought
fair, or if she had not taken them so by surprise, she would have been
powerless among them. But she had sprung at them with the suddenness
of rage. She kicked, and scratched, and bit, and clawed and spat. She
seemed not to feel the defensive blows that were showered upon her in
turn. Her own hard little fists were now doubled for a thump or opened,
like a claw, for scratching.

"Go on home!" she yelled to Clarence, even while she fought. And
Clarence, gathering up his tattered school books, went, and stood not on
the order of his going. Whereupon Fanny darted nimbly to one side, out
of the way of boyish brown fists. In that moment she was transformed
from a raging fury into a very meek and trembling little girl, who
looked shyly and pleadingly out from a tangle of curls. The boys were
for rushing at her again.

"Cowardy-cats! Five of you fighting one girl," cried Fanny, her lower
lip trembling ever so little. "Come on! Hit me! Afraid to fig