“You overgrown alarm clock,” he sneered at Jack, “I tell you she liked me best.”
“Oh, run down, run down,” snapped Jack angrily, “how could she prefer you? Why, you’re only a lump of glucose and some dye.” And they went on at a terrible rate saying all sorts of horrid things to each other, but Maida couldn’t find out who they were quarrelling about, and it made her feel just a teenty, weenty bit jealous to find there was some one besides herself they liked, and liked well enough to quarrel over. Finally the Candy Kid appealed to Maida for aid.
“Where you come from,” he asked, “when two people both like somebody else what are they?”
“No, no,” persisted the Candy Kid, “what do you call them?”
Maida puzzled a moment and let her mind run over some of the romantic stories she had read. “I know,” she said, “they are called rivals.”
“Then I’m a rival,” said the Candy Kid stoutly.
“So am I,” cried Jack. “Tell me--what do rivals do?”
Maida puzzled over this a moment. “Why, they take pistols or swords and fight a duel,” she said presently.
“Good,” replied the Candy Kid, “we’ll fight a duel, although I haven’t the faintest idea what a duel is, or how to fight it.” Then turning to Jack-in-the-Box he added, “have you a sword in your pocket?”
“Why are you so positive?” inquired the Candy Kid sulkily.
“Because,” Jack retorted, “I don’t know what a sword is, and I haven’t any pocket.”
“Pooh, that’s no reason,” complained the Candy Kid, and they were about to resume their quarrel when they were interrupted by Fido, who had been aroused by their noise and sat solemnly blinking his eyes. First he pointed to a picture on the wall. It was a picture of two men fighting with long swords, and Fido pointed to the picture and then to them, and then took the poker from the hearth and showed them just how a duel with swords must be fought. And I may say here it’s no use asking me how Fido knew all about duels--for I haven’t the faintest idea--all I can say is, he was a _very clever Bear_. They clearly understood by this time what they must do. But alas, they had no swords. At last Jack had a happy thought. He dashed out the door and returned with two long pointed icicles, nearly as hard as steel, and gave one to the Candy Kid. Maida was very much frightened and wanted to stop them, but they paid no heed to her tears. The Bear planted her in a chair by the fire and shook his paw at her, so she felt afraid to move. The Bear stood between Jack and the Candy Kid and said, “ovowoogkgk.” (That’s as near as I can come to spelling it as I haven’t quite enough letters to make it sound just right), and just as soon as he said it Jack-in-the-Box stuck his icicle right through the Candy Kid’s breast. Maida screamed with horror, but the Candy Kid laughed and said, “you tickle.” Then he ran his icicle into Jack’s breast, and Jack ran down. It took all three of them five minutes to get him properly wound again. Once more the rivals faced each other and the Bear gave the signal. But they both took bad aim, for instead of piercing each other, both of them stuck the Bear. That was the end of the duel. Fido was so vexed he broke both icicles. Then he took Jack and the Candy Kid over his knee and gave them a good spanking. After that it took them an hour to plug up the cavity in the Candy Kid’s chest with sugar, and to get the rust out of Jack’s cogs where the icicles had melted. And although poor Maida was very tired and sleepy she didn’t feel like going to bed, but sat by the fire revolving a question in her mind.