"Not much! They are my letters and I intend to keep them!" cried Link Merwell. His face took on a cunning look. "If you think you are going to get those letters away from me you are mistaken."
"Maybe I can force you to give them up, Merwell."
"What will you do—fight? If you try that game, Porter, I'll let every fellow in this school know what brought the fight about—and let them read the letters."
"You are a gentleman, I must say," answered Dave. He paused for a moment. "Then you won't give them up?"
"Positively, no."
"Then listen to me, Link Merwell. Sooner or later I'll make you give them up. In the meantime, if I hear of your letting anybody else read those letters, or know of them, I'll give you a ten times worse thrashing than I did before I left this school to go to Europe. Now remember that, for I mean every word I say."
"You can't make me give up the letters," said Merwell, doggedly. He was somewhat cowed by Dave's earnest manner.
"I can and I will."
"Maybe you think I've got them in my trunk? If so, you are mistaken."