"That's all right, Mr. Flanders," said Frederick bravely. "I bend the knee to a worthy rival, sir. I—I—" The words trailed off into indistinct murmurings, for he had completely forgotten the rest of the high-sounding sentences supplied for this very encounter by the helpful Melissa. She had written them out for him and he had learned them by heart. And now they failed him!
Flanders allowed his grip to tighten on the boy's shoulder. "You will get over it, Freddie. I had a similar affliction when I was your age. It was pretty rough, but I pulled through."
"I shall never love any one else, Mr. Flanders," said Frederick solemnly. "I shall never be untrue to her."
"Well, it's fine of you to take it in such a manly fashion, old chap. It's great. Not many fellows could have done what you've done. I'm sure I couldn't. It took grit to come out here and tell me this. Shake hands again, my boy. And I now promise that I shall keep her happy if it lies in the power of a human being to do so. You may depend upon it, Freddie."
"Thank you, Mr. Flanders. I have great confidence in you. I trust you. If you should ever require the support of a strong and willing henchman in time of dire trouble or conflict with merciless—merciless—" He stopped in distress. Once more Melissa's well-turned sentences went back on him. For the life of him, he couldn't remember the all-important noun.
"Scoundrels," supplied Mr. Flanders kindly.
"No, that isn't the word," said Frederick, thinking hard. "Merciless—merciless—Oh, yes—renegades! If you should ever require the support of a strong and—"
"All right," cried Flanders. "I understand. I'll call on you, you may be sure."
"There was something more I wanted to say, but the—the words don't seem to come as they ought to."
"It's this beastly weather," said Flanders. "I never can think well in cold weather. I seem to freeze up."