“No, I haven’t forgotten you, Swift,” was the reply; “but I don’t care to shake hands with you unless you are ready to take back your words about my friend Frank Merriwell.”
The soldier frowned and looked angry. His first impulse was to tell Burrage to go to a warm climate, but the presence of Inza held him in check. Inza also led him to quickly decide to be conciliatory, and, forcing a laugh, he said:
“Oh, all right, my dear boy! I’m ready to do anything to promote peace and harmony. Perhaps I was hasty, and I’ll swallow the words—just to get a grip on your hand.”
This was scarcely a satisfactory apology, and Walter Burrage might have continued to decline to accept the proffered hand had he not observed the look of anxiety on the beautiful face of his sister and divined its meaning.
“All right, Swift,” he said, permitting the young soldier to grasp his fingers. “I didn’t think you a cad in the old days at the academy, and I don’t wish to think so now.”
“We all have our likes and dislikes,” said Swift significantly. “Now, for instance, Mr. Merriwell never liked me very much, and so why should I like him?”
“If I do not like a man,” said Frank, “it is not my way to sneer about him behind his back. I have a way of saying to his face what I have to say.”
Swift flushed, and it was plain that he longed to make a savage retort, but he did not consider such a course wise just then.
“I am not seeking a quarrel with an old schoolmate,” he declared, “so let’s talk of something else. How in the world do you happen to be here, Walt?”
Ignoring Frank, he turned to Inza’s brother. Inza drew Merry down on the seat beside her father, saying in a low tone: