They fancied they could make Dave back down, but they were mistaken. The lad who had been brought up on a farm faced them fearlessly.
"There is no use of fighting about it," he said, as calmly as he could. "You have no right to this ice-boat, and you know it. If you don't give it up perhaps I'll report you."
"Oh, you're a squealer, are you?" sneered Link Merwell. "It's about what I would expect from a boy brought up in a poorhouse."
At this uncalled-for and cutting remark Dave's face flamed. He took one step forward and caught the tall youth by the arm, in a grip that seemed to be of steel and made Merwell wince.
"Are you going to bring that up?" he asked, in a low voice. "I should have thought your friend Poole would have cautioned you that it wasn't healthy to do so."
"Let go of my arm, Porter," and Merwell tried to pull himself free, but in vain. Dave's eyes were blazing like two stars and seemed to look the tall youth through and through.
"I am not letting go just yet, Merwell. I want you to answer my question."
"If you don't let go I'll knock you down!" cried Link Merwell, in a rage.
"If you do, you'll get well punished for it. I allow nobody to talk to me as you have done."
"Want to fight?"