I said, "I come in a perfectly friendly spirit, Saunders minor, and I don't want to put you to any inconvenience with Foster. But, as he's knocked you out of the Good Conduct Prize and your silver watch, which your father may never offer again, as they often change their minds, you have a frightful and bitter grievance against Foster."
"You may also add that Queen Anne is dead," said Saunders minor.
"I know," I said. "But the point is that I'm rather worried to see you taking this lying down. It isn't worthy of the third. We've always been a fighting form, and, in fact, you ought to resist this tooth and nail; and I'd be your second like a shot; and West, the champion of the lower school, would referee—to oblige me."
Saunders minor was a good deal interested.
"D'you think I ought to lick him?" he asked.
"I think you ought to try," I said; "and you might even succeed if you went into training, and had a bit of luck."
Saunders minor thought. He was a pale, putty-coloured chap, and when he thought, he frowned terrifically till his forehead got quite wrinkled and old. There was also a very peculiar vein on his temple you could see when he was thinking extra hard, but not at other times.
"The question is what I should gain," he said.
"Also what he would lose," I said. This was, of course, Fowle's idea, but it came in jolly handy here.
"What can he lose unless I lick him?"