“Wrap yourself up and sit down. This thing has got to be straightened out before we part. What have you to say for yourself?”
“Nothing.” Tompkins spoke for the first time.
“Great sport, isn’t it, to scare a timid little chap into brain fever! I always thought you were half fool, but I never knew before that you were such a coward.”
“I’m not a coward!” retorted Tompkins, aroused. “I didn’t mean to hurt the boy, I was just having a little fun.”
“Why didn’t you try it on me then, or some other fellow of your size?”
“It wouldn’t have been any fun.”
“And for the sake of your amusement you keep Littlefield in fear of his life for weeks. If that isn’t cowardly, what is it?”
“It’s selfish, I admit,” said Tompkins, soberly, “and mean, but not cowardly.”
“Call it selfish and mean, then,” continued Melvin, “if you prefer. Here you are chosen by the school to be pitcher on the nine, a position of honor and responsibility, and you behave like a monkey, doing all sorts of fool tricks, any one of which the Faculty would think ample reason for firing you. What do you call that? It seems to me like a breach of trust.”
“I don’t know,” answered the culprit.