“You won’t, though, if you know what’s good for you,” replied Laughlin, preparing to nail down the shelf. “You’re not dealing with Salter now.”
Marchmont muttered something under his breath, of which Wolcott caught but the single word “mucker.” That one word, however, was sufficient to swing him suddenly around and bring him one threatening step nearer the sneering face. “Repeat that, will you!” he called, his fists instinctively doubled.
“I said that your friend was a very excellent workman,” replied Marchmont, smiling mockingly, as he edged away. “I was wondering what union he belongs to.”
Again Wolcott found the polished man and the backwoodsman contrasted, and the comparison was not to the advantage of the “gentleman.” As the spring days went by, he saw more and more of Laughlin, and gradually came to appreciate better the spirit of the independent, determined, yet wholly sweet-souled giant. If to be a gentleman was to be gentle and kindly at heart and every inch a man, Laughlin’s claim to the title was clear.
CHAPTER XV
THE SILENT PARTNER
“Did you get it off?” cried several boys, pressing round Strong as he came out of the Principal’s office.
“No, I didn’t,” he replied gloomily, “and I don’t believe I ever shall! You’ll have to count me out this year.”
Exclamations and laments rose from the sympathetic audience.
“But won’t they give you another chance?” demanded Roberts, the track manager, who took the case especially to heart. He couldn’t let a ten-and-a-fifth-second man slip through his fingers like this.
“Oh, yes, they’ll give me another trial in May—if I am here then,” said the runner, sarcastically. “But what good is that? Haven’t I had a tutor for a month, and failed?”