"None of your insinuations!" he roared. "I am not poor, and I want you to know it. My father may have lost some money, but he can still buy and sell your father. And as for such a poorhouse nobody as your intimate friend there, Porter——"
"For shame, Plum!" cried several.
"Oh, go ahead and toady to him, if you want to. I shan't stop you. But I'd rather pick my company."
"And so would I," added Nat Poole. "I once heard of a poorhouse boy who was the son of a thief. I'd not want to train with a fellow of that sort."
Dave listened to the words, and they seemed to burn into his very heart. He came forward with a face as white as death itself.
"Nat Poole, do you mean to insinuate that I am the son of a thief?" he demanded.
"Oh, a fellow don't know what to think," replied the Crumville aristocrat, with a sneer.
"Then take that for your opinion."
It was a telling blow, delivered with a passion that Dave could not control. It took Nat Poole squarely in the mouth, and the aristocrat went down with a thud, flat on his back. His lip was cut and two of his teeth were loosened, while the country's boy's fist showed a skinned knuckle.
"Whoop! did you see that!"