“Oh yes, I understand,” said Frank warmly. “I haven’t been behind the trees in the big field at Winchester a dozen times perhaps without knowing what that means.”
“Pish!” said Andrew contemptuously; “schoolboys’ squabbles settled with fists. Black eyes, bruised knuckles, and cut lips.”
“Well, schoolboys don’t wear swords,” cried Frank, who was by no means quelled. “I learned fencing, and I dare say I could use mine properly. I’ve fenced with my father in the holidays many a time.”
“Then I shall send a friend to you, sir,” said Andrew fiercely.
“You mean an enemy,” said Frank grimly.
“A friend, sir—a friend,” said Andrew haughtily; “and you can name your own.”
“No, I can’t, and I shouldn’t make such a fool of myself,” cried Frank defiantly.
“You are very free, sir, with your fools,” cried Andrew. “Such language as this is not fitted for the anteroom in the Palace.”
“I suppose I may call myself a fool if I like.”
“When you are alone, sir, if you think proper, but not in my presence. Perhaps you will have the goodness to name your friend now; it will save time and trouble.”