It has already been said that Godfrey Preston was a conceited and arrogant boy. He had a very high idea of his own importance, and expected that others would acknowledge it; but he was not altogether successful. He would like to have had Andy Burke look up to him as a member of a superior class, and in that case might have condescended to patronize him, as a chieftain might in the case of a humble retainer. But Andy didn't want to be patronized by Godfrey. He never showed by his manner that he felt beneath him socially, and this greatly vexed Godfrey.
"His mother used to iron at our house," he said to Ben Travers one day; "but my mother discharged her. I don't see why the boys treat him as an equal. I won't, for my part."
"Of course, he isn't your equal," said the subservient Ben. "That's a good joke."
"He acts as if he was," said Godfrey, discontentedly.
"It's only his impudence."
"You are right," said Godfrey, rather liking this explanation. "He is one of the most impudent boys I know. I wish my father would send me to a fashionable school, where I shouldn't meet such fellows. That's the worst of these public schools—you meet all sorts of persons in them."
"Of course you do."
"I suppose this Burke will be a hod-carrier, or something of that kind, when he is a man."
"While you are a member of Congress."
"Very likely," said Godfrey, loftily; "and he will claim that he was an old schoolmate of mine. It is disgusting."
"Of course it is. However, we needn't notice him."
"I don't mean to."
But in the course of the next week there was an occurrence which compelled Godfrey to "notice" his detested schoolfellow.
Among the scholars was a very pleasant boy of twelve, named Alfred Parker. He was the son of a poor widow, and was universally liked for his amiable and obliging disposition. One morning, before school, he was engaged in some game which required him to run. He accidentally ran against Godfrey, who was just coming up the hill, with considerable force. Now, it was very evident that it was wholly unintentional; but Godfrey was greatly incensed.
"What do you mean by that, you little scamp?" he exclaimed, furiously.
"Excuse me, Godfrey; I didn't mean to run into you."
"That don't go down."
"Indeed, I didn't. I didn't see you."
"I can't help it. You ought to have been more careful. Take that, to make you more careful."
As he said this, he seized him by the collar, and, tripping him, laid him flat on his back.
"For shame, Godfrey!" said another boy standing by; but as it was a small boy, Godfrey only answered:
"If you say that again, I'll serve you the same way."
Alfred tried to get up, but Godfrey put his knee on his breast.
"Let me up, Godfrey," said Alfred, piteously. "I can't breathe. You hurt me."
"I'll teach you to run into me," said the bully.
"I didn't mean to."
"I want to make sure of your not doing it again."
"Do let me up," said Alfred.
In return, Godfrey only pressed more heavily, and the little fellow began to cry. But help was near at hand. Andy Burke happened to come up the hill just then, and saw what was going on. He had a natural chivalry that prompted him always to take the weaker side. But besides this, he liked Alfred for his good qualities, and disliked Godfrey for his bad ones. He did not hesitate a moment, therefore, but ran up, and, seizing Godfrey by the collar with a powerful grasp, jerked him on his back in the twinkling of an eye. Then, completely turning the tables, he put his knee on Godfrey's breast, and said:
"Now, you know how it is yourself. How do you like it?"
"Let me up," demanded Godfrey, furiously.
"That's what Alfred asked you to do," said Andy, coolly. "Why didn't you do it?"
"Because I didn't choose," answered the prostrate boy, almost foaming at the mouth with rage and humiliation.
"Then I don't choose to let you up."
"You shall suffer for this," said Godfrey, struggling, but in vain.
"Not from your hands. Oh, you needn't try so hard to get up. I can hold you here all day if I choose."
"You're a low Irish boy!"
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