"Anatoly Rybakov. The dirk (Кортик, англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

pugnaciously rolling up his sleeves.
"Let's agree that while we're fighting you fellows won't interfere,"
Misha warned.
"All right, all right, come down!"
Uncle Senya was already standing beside Grandmother on the porch. Misha
jumped off the fence and Petukh immediately stepped up to him. He was almost
twice Misha's size.
"Hey, what's that?" Misha said, poking at the steel buckle on Petka's
belt.
The rules forbade any metal objects on the clothes of the opponents.
Petukh took off the belt, and his trousers almost dropped. He caught them
with one hand and while he was tying them up with a bit of string someone
had given him, Misha pushed the boys to make a wider ring.
"Give us more room!" he was saying; then, seeing a chance of getting
away, he shoved one of the boys aside and took to his heels.
The Ogorodnaya boys started off in pursuit, shouting and whistling;
Petukh brought up the rear, holding on to his trousers and almost crying
with disappointment.
Misha ran as fast as his legs could carry him, his bare heels flashing
in the sun. Behind him he heard the patter of his pursuers' feet, their
heavy breathing and cries. He made a sharp turn, dashed down a short alley,
and reached his own street. The Alekseyevskaya boys came running to his
rescue, but the others turned back without going into battle.
"Where've you come from?" red-haired Genka asked.
Misha drew a sharp breath and looked round at his friends.
"Ogorodnaya Street," he said nonchalantly. "Fought fair and square with
Petukh, and when I was getting the better of it, they all jumped on me."
"You fought Petukh?" Genka asked dubiously.
"Who else? You? A tough chap he is; look at the bump he gave me!" Misha
said, touching his forehead.
His friends gazed on this blue mark of his valour with great respect.
"I gave him something to remember me by, too," Misha continued. "And I
took away his catapult."
He pulled a catapult with long red rubber bands out of his shirt.
"Better'n yours by a long shot!"
He hid the catapult and gave a contemptuous look at the girls making
mud-pies.
"Well, and what are you doing?" he jeered at Genka. "Playing
hide-and-seek, catchers? 'Who's afraid of the big bad wolf, big bad wolf,
big bad wolf-"
"What d'you take me for!" Genka exclaimed with a shake of his red
forelock, but for some reason he flushed and said quickly "Let's play
knives."
"For five hot ones with grease."
"Right."
They sat on the wooden pavement and began throwing a penknife into the
ground in turns: a plain throw, from the palm, a long throw, over the
shoulder, a straight throw....
Misha finished the ten throws first and Genka stretched his hand out to
him. Then Misha made a fierce face and raised two spit-wetted fingers. The