"And what do you expect me to do?" asked Nat Poole.
"You can skate back to the Hall."
"I lost one of my skates."
"Then let Merwell tow you on one foot."
"Oh, you needn't boss us around, Porter," growled Link Merwell. "I'm not used to it, and I won't stand for it. Poole and I are going to the Hall on the ice-boat, and that is all there is about it."
He drew himself up to his full height—he was four inches taller than Dave—and glared down defiantly. This gave Nat Poole a little courage, and he ranged beside Merwell, and both doubled up their fists.
They fancied they could make Dave back down, but they were mistaken. The lad who had been brought up on a farm faced them fearlessly.
"There is no use of fighting about it," he said, as calmly as he could. "You have no right to this ice-boat, and you know it. If you don't give it up perhaps I'll report you."
"Oh, you're a squealer, are you?" sneered Link Merwell. "It's about what I would expect from a boy brought up in a poorhouse."
At this uncalled-for and cutting remark Dave's face flamed. He took one step forward and caught the tall youth by the arm, in a grip that seemed to be of steel and made Merwell wince.
