Frank's Campaign [23]
again," pleaded Pomp, rolling his eyes in terror. Though what it was he promised not to do the poor little fellow would have found it hard to tell.
It would have been as easy to soften the heart of a nether millstone as that of John Haynes.
By the time he had completed his preparations, and whirled his stick in the air preparatory to bringing it down with full force on Pomp's back, rapid steps were heard, and a voice asked, "What are you doing there, John Haynes?"
John looked round, and saw standing near him Frank Frost, whose attention had been excited by what he had heard of Pomp's cries.
"Save me, save me, Mass' Frank," pleaded poor little Pomp.
"What has he tied you up there for, Pomp?"
"It's none of your business, Frank Frost," said John passionately.
"I think it's some of my business," said Frank coolly, "when I find you playing the part of a Southern overseer. You are not in Richmond, John Haynes, and you'll get into trouble if you undertake to act as if you were."
"If you say much more, I'll flog you too!" screamed John, beside himself with excitement and rage.
Frank had not a particle of cowardice in his composition. He was not fond of fighting, but he felt that circumstances made it necessary for him to do so now. He did not easily lose his temper, and this at present gave him the advantage over John.
"You are too excited to know what you are talking about," he said coolly. "Pomp, why has he tied you up?"
Pomp explained that John had tried to get his pail from him. He closed by imploring "Mass' Frank" to prevent John from whipping him.
"He shall not whip you, Pomp," said Frank quietly. As he spoke he stepped to the tree and faced John intrepidly.
John, in a moment of less passion, would not have ventured to attack a boy so near his own size. Like all bullies, he was essentially a coward, but now his rage got the better of his prudence.
"I'll flog you both!" he exclaimed hoarsely, and sprang forward with upraised stick.
Frank was about half a head shorter than John, and was more than a year younger, but he was stout and compactly built; besides, he was cool and collected, and this is always an advantage.
Before John realized what had happened, his stick had flown from his hand, and he was forcibly pushed back, so that he narrowly escaped falling to the ground.
"Gib it to him, Mass' Frank!" shouted little Pomp. "Gib it to him!"
This increased John's exasperation. By this time he was almost foaming at the mouth.
"I'll kill you, Frank Frost," he exclaimed, this time rushing at him without a stick.
Frank had been in the habit of wrestling for sport with the boys of his own size. In this way he had acquired a certain amount of dexterity in "tripping up." John, on the contrary, was unpractised. His quick temper was so easily roused that other boys had declined engaging in friendly contests with him, knowing that in most cases they would degenerate into a fight.
John rushed forward, and attempted to throw Frank by the strength of his arms alone. Frank eluded his grasp, and, getting one of his legs around John's, with a quick movement tripped him up. He fell heavily upon his back.
"This is all foolish, John," said Frank, bending over his fallen foe. "What are you fighting for? The privilege of savagely whipping a poor little fellow less than half your age?"
"I care more about whipping you, a cursed sight!" said John, taking advantage of Frank's withdrawing his pressure to spring to his feet. "You first, and him afterward!"
Again he threw himself upon Frank; but again coolness and practice prevailed against blind fury and untaught strength, and again he lay prostrate.
By this time Pomp had freed himself from the string that fettered his wrists, and danced in glee round John Haynes, in whose discomfiture he felt great delight.
"You'd better pick up your pail and run home," said Frank. He was generously desirous of saving John from further humiliation. "Will you go away quietly if I will let you up, John?" he asked.
"No, d----you!" returned John,
It would have been as easy to soften the heart of a nether millstone as that of John Haynes.
By the time he had completed his preparations, and whirled his stick in the air preparatory to bringing it down with full force on Pomp's back, rapid steps were heard, and a voice asked, "What are you doing there, John Haynes?"
John looked round, and saw standing near him Frank Frost, whose attention had been excited by what he had heard of Pomp's cries.
"Save me, save me, Mass' Frank," pleaded poor little Pomp.
"What has he tied you up there for, Pomp?"
"It's none of your business, Frank Frost," said John passionately.
"I think it's some of my business," said Frank coolly, "when I find you playing the part of a Southern overseer. You are not in Richmond, John Haynes, and you'll get into trouble if you undertake to act as if you were."
"If you say much more, I'll flog you too!" screamed John, beside himself with excitement and rage.
Frank had not a particle of cowardice in his composition. He was not fond of fighting, but he felt that circumstances made it necessary for him to do so now. He did not easily lose his temper, and this at present gave him the advantage over John.
"You are too excited to know what you are talking about," he said coolly. "Pomp, why has he tied you up?"
Pomp explained that John had tried to get his pail from him. He closed by imploring "Mass' Frank" to prevent John from whipping him.
"He shall not whip you, Pomp," said Frank quietly. As he spoke he stepped to the tree and faced John intrepidly.
John, in a moment of less passion, would not have ventured to attack a boy so near his own size. Like all bullies, he was essentially a coward, but now his rage got the better of his prudence.
"I'll flog you both!" he exclaimed hoarsely, and sprang forward with upraised stick.
Frank was about half a head shorter than John, and was more than a year younger, but he was stout and compactly built; besides, he was cool and collected, and this is always an advantage.
Before John realized what had happened, his stick had flown from his hand, and he was forcibly pushed back, so that he narrowly escaped falling to the ground.
"Gib it to him, Mass' Frank!" shouted little Pomp. "Gib it to him!"
This increased John's exasperation. By this time he was almost foaming at the mouth.
"I'll kill you, Frank Frost," he exclaimed, this time rushing at him without a stick.
Frank had been in the habit of wrestling for sport with the boys of his own size. In this way he had acquired a certain amount of dexterity in "tripping up." John, on the contrary, was unpractised. His quick temper was so easily roused that other boys had declined engaging in friendly contests with him, knowing that in most cases they would degenerate into a fight.
John rushed forward, and attempted to throw Frank by the strength of his arms alone. Frank eluded his grasp, and, getting one of his legs around John's, with a quick movement tripped him up. He fell heavily upon his back.
"This is all foolish, John," said Frank, bending over his fallen foe. "What are you fighting for? The privilege of savagely whipping a poor little fellow less than half your age?"
"I care more about whipping you, a cursed sight!" said John, taking advantage of Frank's withdrawing his pressure to spring to his feet. "You first, and him afterward!"
Again he threw himself upon Frank; but again coolness and practice prevailed against blind fury and untaught strength, and again he lay prostrate.
By this time Pomp had freed himself from the string that fettered his wrists, and danced in glee round John Haynes, in whose discomfiture he felt great delight.
"You'd better pick up your pail and run home," said Frank. He was generously desirous of saving John from further humiliation. "Will you go away quietly if I will let you up, John?" he asked.
"No, d----you!" returned John,