Here he turned to recover a moment of dignity.
"You just wait till I catch you out some day!" he roared back with gestures meant to terrify.

But this was his last flash.

He went on his way, one hand still to the blighted eye.
Now it developed that the two boys who had waited the Hun had profited cunningly by the brawl.

They had approached at its beginning--a fight was anybody's to watch--they had applauded its denouement with shrill and hearty cries, and they now felicitated the victor.
"Aw, that old Tod McNeil thinks he can fight!" said one, and laughed in harsh derision.
"I bet this kid could lick him any day in the week!" observed his companion.
This boy, it was now seen, led a dog on a rope, a half-grown dog that would one day be large.

He was now heavily clad in silken wool of richly mixed colours--brown, yellow, and bluish gray--and his eyes were still the pale blue of puppyhood.
Both newcomers had learned the unwisdom of abrupt methods of approaching this wealthy group.