I soon heard that this opinion was shared, for one of the bigger boys came over from his seat near Burr major.
“I say,” he said, “Reb’s sure to tell the Doctor about you two. Shall you say that you had a round with big Burr and old Fatsee?”
“Did Eely tell you to come and ask?” said Mercer, glancing toward where Burr major was anxiously watching in our direction.
“Never you mind. Are you going to tell?”
“What is it to you?”
“A good deal. You tell, and half a dozen of us mean to wallop you two, and you won’t like that.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t mind, and Burr junior wouldn’t. I know old Squirmy sent you to ask because—there, look at him—he’s all in a fiddle for fear the Doctor should punish him—a great coward!—for knocking smaller boys about.”
“Look here,” whispered the ambassador, “don’t you be quite so saucy.”
“Shall if I like. You go and tell old Eely, old slimy Snip, that I’m not like his chosen friend Dicksee, a miserable, tale-telling sneak. I shan’t let out about Burr major being such a coward, and Burr here won’t tell about fat-headed Dicksee, so now you can go.”
“And you’d better keep to it,” said the boy, looking at me fiercely; but I did not feel afraid, for Mercer’s project about the gloves had sent a glow through me, and, as he said, our time would come.