"Hen may have his faults, but it's time we chose another fellow to pick on for a while." "We're going to wash his face," insisted Ben Alvord, skating up and looking belligerent.

"Don't you interfere, Dick Prescott!" Hen, making no effort to do more than sit up, was blubbering softly.
"Lemme alone, fellows," he pleaded.

"Can't you see I'm hurt ?" Hen had his right mitten off, and was gingerly applying that hand to the narrow stretch of upper lip.

There was blood there.

Hen, catching only an imperfect view as he gazed down past the end of his nose, was sure that he had been badly injured by his fall.
Some of the other boys set up a yell of laughter.
"Why, you big baby!" blurted Toby.