You let 'em boys alone." Rupe strode across the still prostrate Sam, stepped upon Penrod, and, equipping his countenance with the terrifying scowl and protruded jaw, lowered his head to the level of Herman's.
"Nig, you'll be lucky if you leave here alive!" And he leaned forward till his nose was within less than an inch of Herman's nose.
It could be felt that something awful was about to happen, and Penrod, as he rose from the floor, suffered an unexpected twinge of apprehension and remorse: he hoped that Rupe wouldn't REALLY hurt Herman.

A sudden dislike of Rupe and Rupe's ways rose within him, as he looked at the big boy overwhelming the little darky with that ferocious scowl.

Penrod, all at once, felt sorry about something indefinable; and, with equal vagueness, he felt foolish.

"Come on, Rupe," he suggested, feebly, "let Herman go, and let's us make our billies out of the rake handle." The rake handle, however, was not available, if Rupe had inclined to favour the suggestion.

Verman had discarded his lath for the rake, which he was at this moment lifting in the air.
"You ole black nigger," the fat-faced boy said venomously to Herman, "I'm agoin' to----" But he had allowed his nose to remain too long near Herman's.
Penrod's familiar nose had been as close with only a ticklish spinal effect upon the not very remote descendant of Congo man-eaters.