"Really?" sneered the bully. He squared off. "Look here, Porter, I owe you a thrashing and I said I'd give it to you. I reckon the time is ripe for it."
"I told you I'd be ready whenever you were ready, Plum. But that hasn't anything to do with this affair. I ask you, Macklin, what you have to say for yourself."
"I—I——"
"Don't answer him, Chip. He can't prove anything. It's only bluster on his part. Keep your mouth shut."
Again there was a painful pause. Then without warning Dave stepped forward and caught the sneak by the ear.
"Did you hear me?" he asked, sharply. "Did you hear me?"
"Oh! oh!" shrieked the sneak. "Oh, let go. Porter, please let go!" And he began to squirm.
"Answer my question."
"I—I can't answer. I—I didn't do anything. I—I found some sheets of a composition that had—had blown out of a window——"
"That's a fairy tale, Macklin, you——"
Dave got no further, for Gus Plum was on him and catching him by the arm, flung him backward. Instantly the two squared off. Plum struck at the country boy, and hit him in the shoulder, and Dave retaliated with a sharp crack
