Frank looked at his companion sharply.
“Then you mean to fight?”
“Yes, sir, I mean to chastise this insolence.”
“They wouldn’t let us cross swords within the Palace grounds.”
“Pooh! No paltry excuses and evasions, sir,” cried Andrew, in whose thin cheeks a couple of red spots appeared. “Of course we could not hold a meeting here. But there is the Park. I see, though. Big words, and now the dog that was going to bite is putting his tail between his legs, and is ready to run away.”
“Is he?” said Frank sharply, and a curiously stubborn look came into his face. “Don’t you be too sure of that. But, anyhow, I’m not going to cross swords with you in real earnest.”
“I thought so. You are afraid that I should pink you.”
“Who’s afraid?”
“Bah!” cried Andrew contemptuously. “You are.”
“Oh, am I?” growled Frank. “Look here; I’m sure my father wouldn’t like me to fight you with swords, whether you pinked me as you call it, or I wounded you.”