“You? I know you are the chum of that sneaking freshman, but I fail to see how you can keep me from blowing on him.”
“I’ll tell you how,” came quietly from Frank. “If you blow on him, I am going to blow on you.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that I will tell what I know—what I overheard. I will tell how you tried to frighten Hodge into giving up the attempt to make the nine. How you threatened to blow on him about the affair with the cop if he didn’t withdraw, and how he booted you out of Farnham Hall, as you deserved. How do you like that?”
“It won’t save Hodge,” muttered Noon, sullenly.
“Perhaps not; but it will cook you. How much show do you think you will stand when it is known that you resorted to such an expedient to get a rival out of the way? You will be branded as a sneak, and your friends will avoid you.”
Noon was whiter than ever.
“I don’t know,” he said; “perhaps my word is as good as yours.”
“Perhaps so. If you think so, go right ahead and see where you land. I’ll go you ten even that you strike on the back of your neck. I know you will not make the nine. You will defeat yourself by your own meanness.”
Frank was talking plain. He believed it was necessary to talk thus to a fellow like Ned Noon. He felt that Noon could not be shamed into abandoning his plot against Hodge, but he might be brought to do so through fear.