"I don't care where you have them—I'll get them sometime. And remember, don't you dare to write to my sister again, or don't you dare to speak to her when you meet her."
"To listen to your talk, you'd think you were my master, Porter," sneered the bully, but his lips trembled slightly as he spoke.
"Not at all. But I want you to let my sister alone, that's all. All the decent fellows in this school know what you are, and it is no credit to any young lady to know you."
"Bah! I consider myself a better fellow than you are," snarled the bully. "You are rich now, but we all know how you were brought up,—among a lot of poorhou——"
Link Merwell stopped suddenly and took a hasty step backward. At his last words Dave's fists had doubled up and a light as of fire had come into his eyes.
"Not another word, Merwell," said Dave, in a strained voice. "Not one—or I'll bang your head against the wall until you yell for mercy. I can stand some things, but I can't stand that—and I won't!"
A silence followed, during which each youth glared at the other. Merwell had his skates in his hand and made a movement as if to lift them up and bring them down on Dave's head. But then his arm dropped to his side, for that terrible look of danger was still in the eyes of the youth who had spent some years of his life in the Crumville poorhouse.
"We'll have this out some other time," he muttered, and slunk out of the boathouse like a whipped cur.