Finally, one, at close
range, struck him in the pit of the stomach, whereupon he clasped
himself about the middle silently, and executed some steps in
seeming imitation of a quaint Indian dance.
His plight being observed through a knothole, his enemies climbed
upon the fence and regarded him seriously.
"Aw, YOU'RE all right, ain't you, old tree-mores?" inquired one.
"I'll SHOW you!" bellowed Penrod, recovering his breath; and he
hurled a fat ball--thoughtfully retained in hand throughout his
agony--to such effect that his interrogator disappeared backward
from the fence without having taken any initiative of his own in
the matter. His comrade impulsively joined him upon the ground,
and the battle continued.
Through the gathering dusk it went on. It waged but the hotter as
darkness made aim more difficult--and still Penrod would not be
driven from the field. Panting, grunting, hoarse from returning
insults, fighting on and on, an indistinguishable figure in the
gloom, he held the back alley against all comers.
For such a combat darkness has one great advantage; but it has an
equally important disadvantage--the combatant cannot see to aim;
on the other hand, he cannot see to dodge.
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