"If you want ... to fight ... come outside!" he jerked.
"---- you!" shouted Tom, as he struggled to his knees and then to his
feet. "I'll smash you!" and he lowered his head and made another blind
rush.
But this time Gard was ready for him, and a stout buffet on the ear as
he passed sent him crashing in a heap into the bowels of the clock,
which had witnessed no such doings since Tom's great-grandfather brought
it home and stood it in its place, and it testified to its amazement at
them by standing with hands uplifted at ten minutes to two until it was
repaired many months afterwards.
Tom got up rather dazedly, and Gard took him by the shoulders and ran
him outside before he had time to pull himself together.
"Now," said Gard, shaking him as a bull-dog might a calf. "See here!
You're not wanted here at present, and if you make any more trouble
you'll suffer for it," and he gave him a final whirl away from the house
and went in and closed the door.
Tom stood gazing at it in dull fury, thought of smashing the window,
picked up a stone, remembered just in time that it would be his window,
so flung the stone and a curse against the door and departed.
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