"What are a few kites?
Leave him alone and let 's get out of this." "They 're my kites," Joe said slowly in a dogged manner.

"They 're my kites, and I 'm going to have them." "You can't fight the crowd," Fred interfered; "and if you do get the best of him they 'll all pile on you." The gang, observing this whispered colloquy, and mistaking it for hesitancy on the part of Joe, set up its wolf-like howling again.
"Afraid! afraid!" the young roughs jeered and taunted.

"He 's too high-toned, he is! Mebbe he 'll spoil his nice clean shirt, and then what 'll mama say ?" "Shut up!" their leader snapped authoritatively, and the noise obediently died away.
"Will you give me those kites ?" Joe demanded, advancing determinedly.
"Will you fight for 'em ?" was Simpson's counter-demand.
"Yes," Joe answered.
"Fight! fight!" the gang began to howl again.
"And it 's me that 'll see fair play," said a man's heavy voice.
All eyes were instantly turned upon the man who had approached unseen and made this announcement.

By the electric light, shining brightly on them from the corner, they made him out to be a big, muscular fellow, clad in a working-man's garments.

His feet were incased in heavy brogans, a narrow strap of black leather held his overalls about his waist, and a black and greasy cap was on his head.