“I presume you are not naturally envious?”
“There was nothing about him that I could envy, Miss Burrage. I found him offensive, that’s all.”
“But you will confess that he was brave?”
“Why should I?”
“The mad-dog affair proved that. Would you have fought that mad beast alone, with a coat wrapped round your arm to protect it from the creature’s jaws, and a jack-knife for your only weapon? Frank Merriwell did that.”
“Because he was too frightened to run away,” laughed Swift. “I heard that at the time, and I believe it was told to me by a fellow who afterward became very chummy with him, Bart Hodge.”
“Hodge hated him at the time, and he would have told anything to injure him. Hodge ran, and I was left to face the dog alone. Frank saw it. He tore off his coat, wrapped it round his left arm, and, with the knife in his hand, fought the dog till Mr. Snodd came and shot the beast.”
“Then he fainted,” laughed the young soldier, with a sneer.
“But not till he had saved us, and his fingers were fastened on the throat of the dog with a regular death-grip, his knife having been lost in the struggle. Oh, I’ll never forget how white and still he was as he lay on the ground!”
She shuddered a little, and Swift laughed again.