CHAPTER XXIII COLOURED TROOPS IN ACTION
How neat and pure is the task of the chronicler who has the tale to tellof a "good rousing fight" between boys or men who fight in the "good oldEnglish way," according to a model set for fights in books long beforeTom Brown went to Rugby. There are seconds and rounds and rules offair-play, and always there is great good feeling in the end--thoughsometimes, to vary the model, "the Butcher" defeats the hero--and thechronicler who stencils this fine old pattern on his page is certain ofapplause as the stirrer of "red blood." There is no surer recipe.
But when Herman and Verman set to 't the record must be no more than afew fragments left by the expurgator. It has been perhaps sufficientlysuggested that the altercation in Mr. Schofield's stable opened withmayhem in respect to the aggressor's nose. Expressing vocally hisindignation and the extremity of his pained surprise, Mr. Collinsstepped backward, holding his left hand over his nose, and striking atHerman with his right. Then Verman hit him with the rake.
Verman struck from behind. He struck as hard as he could. And he struckwith the tines down--For, in his simple, direct African way he wished tokill his enemy, and he wished to kill him as soon as possible. That washis single, earnest purpose.
On this account, Rupe Collins was peculiarly unfortunate. He was pluckyand he enjoyed conflict, but neither his ambitions nor his anticipationshad ever included murder. He had not learned that an habituallyaggressive person runs the danger of colliding with beings in one ofthose lower stages of evolution wherein theories about "hitting belowthe belt" have not yet made their appearance.
The rake glanced from the back of Rupe's head to his shoulder, but itfelled him. Both darkies jumped full upon him instantly, and the threerolled and twisted upon the stable-floor, unloosing upon the air sinceremaledictions closely connected with complaints of cruel and unusualtreatment; while certain expressions of feeling presently emanating fromHerman and Verman indicated that Rupe Collins, in this extremity, wasproving himself not too slavishly addicted to fighting by rule. Dan andDuke, mistaking all for mirth, barked gayly.
From the panting, pounding, yelling heap issued words and phraseshitherto quite unknown to Penrod and Sam; also, a hoarse repetitionin the voice of Rupe concerning his ear left it not to be doubtedthat additional mayhem was taking place. Appalled, the two spectatorsretreated to the doorway nearest the yard, where they stood dumblywatching the cataclysm.
The struggle increased in primitive simplicity: time and again thehowling Rupe got to his knees only to go down again as the earnestbrothers, in their own way, assisted him to a more reclining position.Primal forces operated here, and the two blanched, slightly higherproducts of evolution, Sam and Penrod, no more thought of interferingthan they would have thought of interfering with an earthquake.
At last, out of the ruck rose Verman, disfigured and maniacal. With awild eye he looked about him for his trusty rake; but Penrod, in horror,had long since thrown the rake out into the yard. Naturally, it had notseemed necessary to remove the lawn-mower.
The frantic eye of Verman fell upon the lawn-mower, and instantlyhe leaped to its handle. Shrilling a wordless war-cry, he charged,propelling the whirling, deafening knives straight upon the pronelegs of Rupe Collins. The lawn-mower was sincerely intended to passlongitudinally over the body of Mr. Collins from heel to head; and itwas the time for a death-song. Black Valkyrie hovered in the shriekingair.
"Cut his gizzud out!" shrieked Herman, urging on the whirling knives.
They touched and lacerated the shin of Rupe, as, with the supreme agonyof effort a creature in mortal peril puts forth before succumbing, hetore himself free of Herman and got upon his feet.
Herman was up as quickly. He leaped to the wall and seized thegarden-scythe that hung there.
"I'm go to cut you' gizzud out," he announced definitely, "an' eat it!"
Rupe Collins had never run from anybody (except his father) in his life;he was not a coward; but the present situation was very, very unusual.He was already in a badly dismantled condition, and yet Herman andVerman seemed discontented with their work: Verman was swinging thegrass-cutter about for a new charge, apparently still wishing to mowhim, and Herman had made a quite plausible statement about what heintended to do with the scythe.
Rupe paused but for an extremely condensed survey of the horribleadvance of the brothers, and then, uttering a blood-curdled scream offear, ran out of the stable and up the alley at a speed he had neverbefore attained, so that even Dan had hard work to keep within barkingdistance. And a 'cross-shoulder glance, at the corner, revealing Vermanand Herman in pursuit, the latter waving his scythe overhead, Mr.Collins slackened not his gait, but, rather, out of great anguish,increased it; the while a rapidly developing purpose became firm in hismind--and ever after so remained--not only to refrain from visiting thatneighbourhood again, but never by any chance to come within a mile ofit.
From the alley door, Penrod and Sam watched the flight, and were withoutwords. When the pursuit rounded the corner, the two looked wanly ateach other, but neither spoke until the return of the brothers from thechase.
Herman and Verman came back, laughing and chuckling.
"Hiyi!" cackled Herman to Verman, as they came, "See 'at ole boy run!"
"Who-ee!" Verman shouted in ecstasy.
"Nev' did see boy run so fas'!" Herman continued, tossing the scytheinto the wheelbarrow. "I bet he home in bed by viss time!"
Verman roared with delight, appearing to be wholly unconscious that thelids of his right eye were swollen shut and that his attire, not toofinical before the struggle, now entitled him to unquestioned rank as asansculotte. Herman was a similar ruin, and gave as little heed to hiscondition.
Penrod looked dazedly from Herman to Verman and back again. So did SamWilliams.
"Herman," said Penrod, in a weak voice, "you wouldn't HONEST of cut hisgizzard out, would you?"
"Who? Me? I don' know. He mighty mean ole boy!" Herman shook his headgravely, and then, observing that Verman was again convulsed withunctuous merriment, joined laughter with his brother. "Sho'! I guess Iuz dess TALKIN' whens I said 'at! Reckon he thought I meant it, f'm deway he tuck an' run. Hiyi! Reckon he thought ole Herman bad man! No,suh! I uz dess talkin', 'cause I nev' would cut NObody! I ain' tryin'git in no jail--NO, suh!"
Penrod looked at the scythe: he looked at Herman. He looked at thelawn-mower, and he looked at Verman. Then he looked out in the yard atthe rake. So did Sam Williams.
"Come on, Verman," said Herman. "We ain' go' 'at stove-wood f' supperyit."
Giggling reminiscently, the brothers disappeared leaving silence behindthem in the carriage-house. Penrod and Sam retired slowly into theshadowy interior, each glancing, now and then, with a preoccupied air,at the open, empty doorway where the late afternoon sunshine was growingruddy. At intervals one or the other scraped the floor reflectivelywith the side of his shoe. Finally, still without either having madeany effort at conversation, they went out into the yard and stood,continuing their silence.
"Well," said Sam, at last, "I guess it's time I better be gettin' home.So long, Penrod!"
"So long, Sam," said Penrod, feebly.
With a solemn gaze he watched his friend out of sight. Then he wentslowly into the house, and after an interval occupied in a uniquemanner, appeared in the library, holding a pair of brilliantly gleamingshoes in his hand.
Mr. Schofield, reading the evening paper, glanced frowningly over it athis offspring.
"Look, papa," said Penrod. "I found your shoes where you'd taken 'emoff in your room, to put on your slippers, and they were all dusty. So Itook 'em out on the back porch and gave 'em a good blacking. They shineup fine, don't they?"
"Well, I'll be d-dud-dummed!" said the startled Mr. Schofield.
Penrod was zigzagging back to normal.
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