“I want my box, sir,” Creelton almost shrieked; “I have private papers, private things of my own. I protest!”
“That will do, gentlemen,” ordered the commandant, and all withdrew.
“Your roommate, the prig, will have his innings now,” remarked Bollup to Himski, as the two walked off together.
“What do you mean by calling Os a prig?” demanded Himski, sharply.
“Oh, he’s become too fresh of late; for a clean sleever he’s a bit too free with his advice to the four striper, at least I think so; any way, I’ve done with Osborn. I’ll never speak to him again.”
“Bollup, Os is one of the best of fellows and the best friend you ever had. You ought to know it better than any one.”
“When a man interferes with my private arrangements and prevents me from keeping an engagement he’s no friend of mine and Osborn is crossed off my list of friends,” remarked Bollup savagely. “But,” he continued with a hard, mirthless laugh, “he’ll think of me occasionally, at least until that left eye of his heals up.”
“I thought so,” said Himski, quietly.
“Thought so?” exclaimed Bollup in surprise. “Didn’t Osborn tell you where he got that eye?”
“He did not, and that’s why I somehow imagined he got it from you.”