There was no answer.
"I'm going to take you back with me to let that old man out of his shop."
There was still no answer. Tom sprang suddenly off Tad's body, but with his fingers under the collar.
"Get up!"
He pulled with all his might. The collar gave way. Tad fell back. "Damned if I will," was all he could say by way of defiance.
Tom gave him a kick. "Get up, I tell you. If you don't I'll kick the stuffing out of you."
The kick hurt nothing but Tad's pride; but it hurt that badly. It hurt it so badly that he got up, with no further show of opposition. He dusted his clothes mechanically with his hands; he tried to adjust his torn collar. His tone was almost commonplace.
"This has got to be settled some other time. What do you want me to do?"
Tom pointed to the door. "What I want you to do is to march. Keep ahead of me. And mind you if you try to bolt I'll wring your neck as if you were a cur. You—you—" He sought a word which would hit where blows had not carried—"you—coward!"