Duffy curled into a ball, but he didn't yell. He bit his lip right through, but he didn't yell. Then he felt his inside coming up into his throat and he vomited.
The little guy shifted hastily. “Look,” he said, “the bastard nearly had me.” He got quite excited about it.
Clive said with approval, “Now you're doing something.”
They stood round Duffy, watching him. The little guy pressing the bridge of his nose tenderly with his fingers, his eyes watering. Clive knelt on the floor with his lips swelling. He could feel that his front teeth moved a little when he touched them with his tongue. Joe stood with his hands hanging loose, like a dog deprived of its bone.
Duffy raised his head slowly. His face glistened with sweat. The shaded light from the ceiling lit his greenish skin. He was feeling awfully bad, but he held on to himself low down and rode with the pain. The blood ran down his chin from his lip. He could feel the salty taste in his mouth.
The little guy said, “Give.”
Duffy didn't say anything. He didn't trust his voice. He lay there, his eyes on the little guy, hating him.
The little guy said, “Ain't you had enough?”
Duffy still said nothing.
The little guy raised his hand. “Soften him a little,” he said to Joe.
Joe smiled. He really took a pleasure in being tough. He put out an arm and his hand closed on Duffy's shirt front, then he heaved a little. Duffy came up, like a cork out of a bottle. He gave a little grunt of anguish. His open hand smacked Joe across the eyes. Joe blinked. “Did you see what he did to me?” he said.
The little guy said, “Full of fight, ain't he?”
Duffy swung at Joe feebly, his punch wouldn't have knocked down a child. Joe grinned. “Get wise to yourself, bright boy,” he said. “You ain't hurting no one.”
The little guy said, “Just pat him around a bit, will you, Joe? We ain't got much time.”
Joe said, “Sure.” He held Duffy at arm's length and hit him between the eyes. His fist traveled at a tremendous speed. Duffy could see it coming, but he couldn't avoid it. Something exploded in his brain, and a bright flash of brightness blinded him. He wanted to lie down, but something was holding on to him.
The little guy said, “Now don't hit him too hard, just pat him around.” His voice sounded a long way away to Duffy.
“I know just what you want,” the big bird said, and he started to slap Duffy's face with heavy resounding blows with his open hand.
The little guy said to Clive, “If this makes you feel bad, you can turn your head.”
Clive said, “I'm feeling fine. I wish I was as big as Joe.”
The little guy patted his arm. “I don't,” he said.
When Joe got tired, he said, “Shall we try him now?”
The little guy said, “I think so.”
Joe let go of Duffy, who fell in a heap on the floor. His face was a sight. The little guy knelt down. “Where's the camera, bright boy?”
Duffy mumbled something, but his mouth was so swollen that the little guy couldn't hear what he said.
“Lay him up on the couch, Joe, we'll have to get him into shape.”
Joe pulled Duffy across the floor by his arm and dumped him on to the over-stuffed couch.
“Get some water, Clive, and a towel,” the little guy said.
Clive went out of the room into the bathroom. Duffy lay with his eyes shut, his breath coming in shuddering gasps.
Joe went over to the wagon and poured himself out a drink. He took it neat, then punched himself on the chest with his fist.
Clive came back with a wet towel. The little guy held out his hand, but Clive walked over to Duffy. “Let me do it.”
“Well, well, did you hear, Joe?” the little guy was surprised. “Clive wants to do it.”
Clive went on one knee beside Duffy and mopped his swollen bruised face with the towel. Duffy looked at him through a puffy eye. Then Clive put his hand on the side of Duffy's head, made his fingers into claws and dragged his nails down Duffy's face.
The little guy ran across the room and pulled Clive away. Clive had flecks of foam at the sides of his mouth. “That'll teach him,” he said shrilly. “He won't hit me again in a hurry.”
“You might have broken your nice nails,” the little guy said sharply. “That ain't the way to go on.”
Duffy pushed himself up on the couch and lowered his legs to the floor. Joe watched him, a big grin on his face. “Ain't he a pip?” he said, admiringly.
The other two turned and watched him too. Duffy was sitting up now, his head sunk on his chest. He remained like that for several minutes, then he put both hands on the couch and levered himself to his feet. His face was a mask of blood. Swaying, he made a little tottering run at Clive, who hastily got behind the little guy.
Joe stepped in front of Duffy. He said, “Still looking for trouble?”
Duffy swung a leaden arm, but Joe hit him in the ribs again, stepping in close and driving at Duffy a jarring jolt. Duffy opened his mouth and said “O!”, then he fell on his knees.
Just then the telephone bell rang. The three started and looked at the telephone. It continued to ring.
“That's bad,” the little guy said, looking worried.
They waited, all concentrated on the sound of the bell. It rang for several seconds, then it stopped.
Joe dragged Duffy on to the couch again. He heaved him up and looked at the little guy.
“Bring him round,” the little guy said.
Joe pulled Duffy's ears. He took them in each hand and tugged as if he were milking a cow. Duffy groaned and tried to get his head away.
“He's here now,” Joe said.
The little guy stood quite close to Duffy. “Come on,” he said loudly, “spill it. Where's that goddam camera?”
“Somebody stole it,” Duffy mumbled only half conscious.
The little guy stood back. “Christ!” he said. “Did you hear that? He said someone stole it. This bird must be nuts to hang on so long.”
The telephone bell began to ring again. Clive said suddenly, “Perhaps it's Mr. Morgan.”
The little guy said, “Quiet,” and looked at Duffy. Duffy lay with his eyes shut, but he had heard all right. His brain wouldn't think, but he remembered all right. The little guy hesitated, then went over to the 'phone. He unhooked the receiver from its prong.