Amy’s happy prattle became intolerable. Tom hinted at things he had to attend to; things that must be done; and time was fleeting. But in vain⁠—the girl chirped on. Tom thought, “Oh, hang her, ain’t I ever going to get rid of her?” At last he must be attending to those things⁠—and she said artlessly that she would be “around” when school let out. And he hastened away, hating her for it.

“Any other boy!” Tom thought, grating his teeth. “Any boy in the whole town but that Saint Louis smarty that thinks he dresses so fine and is aristocracy! Oh, all right, I licked you the first day you ever saw this town, mister, and I’ll lick you again! You just wait till I catch you out! I’ll just take and⁠—”

And he went through the motions of thrashing an imaginary boy⁠—pummelling the air, and kicking and gouging. “Oh, you do, do you? You holler ’nough, do you? Now, then, let that learn you!” And so the imaginary flogging was finished to his satisfaction.