The pursuer came up with a few swift, firm steps and stopped, regarding Leon with scorn and anger apparently unspeakable, so that the vacillating fellow stared at the ground and weakly asked, forcing himself with a painful effort to utter the words:
“Well, what do you want?”
“You’re a nice one, you are!” grated Don, with a motion that caused the other to start back a bit and lift one hand, like an oft-beaten child who expects a blow. “Oh, I’m not going to touch you, so don’t cringe like a whipped cur!”
“What’s the matter with you?” Bentley snapped, trying to stiffen up and put on a bold front. “If you have anything to say to me, why don’t you say it?”
“I will. You’re a treacherous sneak! You’re a two-faced whelp! That ought to be plain enough for you to understand.”
“Oh, come, Scott!” exclaimed Leon, changing his manner. “What reason have you got to make such talk to me? What have I done?”
“You know what you’ve done! You pretended to be my friend, and yet——”
“I am your friend.”
“You’re nothing of the sort! I wouldn’t own you for a friend! You have gone back on me!”
“I suppose I know what you’re driving at. You’re mad because I’ve gone back onto the eleven.”