"Van," he said definitely, "what were you doing at that window?"
"Why, didn't you see--looking in."
"I know you was. In other words, spying. Oh, Van--spying on my mother!"
Van Sherwin's eyes flashed. In a trice he had whipped off his coat. His fists doubled up. He advanced on Ralph, his voice shaking with an angry sob.
"Take that back, Ralph Fairbanks!" he cried. "Do it quick, or you've got to lick me. Me spy on your mother? Why, she's pretty near my mother, too--the only one I ever remember."
"But I saw you lurking at that window," said Ralph, a good deal taken aback by Van's violent demonstration.
"Lurking, eh?" repeated Van sarcastically. "I'm a lurker, am I? And a spy? Why don't you call me a bravo--and a brigand? Humph--you chump!"
The impulsive fellow shrugged his shoulders in such a pitying, indulgent way that Ralph was fairly nettled.
"I won't fight you," declared Van, putting on his coat again. "You think so much of your mother that I'll forgive you. But I think a lot of her, too, as you well know, and, knowing it, you ought to have thought twice before you--yes, imputed to me any action that could do her any harm."
"You're right, Van," said Ralph, grasping both hands of his eccentric chum, heartily enough this time. "I am so strung up, though, with things happening, and so much suspicion and mystery in the air, that I'm jumping to all kinds of conclusions helter-skelter. I hate mystery, you know."