hand fights between boys seldom finish well. Some disaster is sure to happen! . . .'
Poor crab! He might as well have preached to the wind. Even that young rascal Pinocchio, turning round, looked at him mockingly and said rudely:
'Hold your tongue, you tiresome crab! You had better suck some liquorice lozenges to cure that cold in your throat. Or better still, go to bed and try to get a reaction!'
Just then the boys, who had no more books of their own to throw, spied at a little distance the satchel that belonged to Pinocchio, and took possession of it in less time than it takes to tell.
Amongst the books there was one bound in strong cardboard with the back and points, of parchment It was a Treatise on Arithmetic. I leave you to imagine if it was big or not!
One of the boys seized this volume, and aiming at Pinocchio's head threw it at him with all the force he could muster. But instead of hitting the puppet it struck one of his companions on the temple, who turning as white as a sheet said only:
'Oh, mother, help . . . I am dying! . . .' and fell his whole length on the sand. Thinking he was dead the terrified boys ran off as hard as their legs could carry them, and in a few minutes they were out of sight.
