“Better still, shrimp.”
“And look here,” cried Dick, who was now bubbling over with anger, “if you dare to call me shrimp again I’ll—I’ll—Look here, sir, your conduct is most ungentlemanly, and I shall—I shall—”
“Kick me, and make me call you out; and we shall meet, exchange shots, shake hands, and be sworn friends ever after—eh, shrimp, lad? No; we’ll do it without all that. Yes, precious ungentlemanly of me, and it’s not nice to be laughed at and called names,” said Dick’s visitor. “Only my way, my lad. But I say, you know,” continued the young officer, taking a chair by the back, turning it round, and then mounting it as if he already had his left foot in a stirrup, raising his right leg very high so as to clear an imaginary cantle and valise, throwing it slowly over, and then dropping down astride, “I like that, but you are little and thin, you know.”
“I suppose I shall grow,” retorted Dick hotly, and the words were on his lips to say, “as big and rude and ugly as you are,” but he refrained.
“Grow? Like a weed, my lad. You’re just the big-boned fellow for it. We’ll soon make you put on muscle.”
“Thank you!” cried Dick scornfully.
“Bless us! what a young fire-eater it is! You’ll do, Dicky; that you will. From what I saw of you last night, I fancied you’d be a nice, quiet, mamma’s boy, and I was sorry that they had not kept you at home.”
“Indeed!” said Dick.
“Cool down, my lad; cool down now. You’ve shown that you’ve got plenty of stuff in you. There, shake hands, Darrell. Don’t be upset about a bit of chaff, boy. I am a bit of a ruffian, I know; but you and I have got to be friends. More than that—brothers. We fellows out here have to do a lot of fighting. Before long, perhaps, I shall have to be saving your life, or you saving mine.”
“That sounds pleasant,” said Dick, resigning his hand to the firm grip which closed upon it, and responding heartily, for there was something taking in the young man’s bluff way.