"That isn't danger, that's just plain murder," answered the fat boy, rolling his eyes and showing the whites.
"Well, don't have a fit about it," chuckled Ned. "I will admit that you were a hero in this instance, but you will have to play the hero a lot more times before we even up for the cold feet you have shown in the past."
"You're jealous—that's what is the matter with you," retorted the fat boy.
"You are under the impression that you know the man, Mr. Lilly?" asked the Professor.
"I may," was the evasive answer.
"What do you propose to do about it?"
"Nothing just now. I reckon I'll think the matter over. I shall come up with the moccasin one of these days, then we'll have a reckoning that will be a reckoning."
"I sincerely hope there will be no bloodshed," said the Professor anxiously.
"There came pretty near being bloodshed today," replied Stacy. "Br-r-r-r!"
After supper Lilly went away by himself and sat down on the bank of the river, where he tugged at first one end of his moustache, then the other, while he pondered over the story told by Tad Butler and Stacy Brown.