“I suppose so,” said the boy, huskily.
“And that’s what I’m going to do for hitting me, unless you tell me whether that was true what you said. Now, then, beg me not to hurl yer down.”
“I—shan’t,” ground out the boy through his set teeth, and a grim smile crossed the man’s dark face, making it look for the moment open and manly—a smile caused by something akin to admiration.
“Well, you’re a nice-tempered sort of a young fellow,” growled the man.
“Let go of my wrist.”
“Will yer promise not to hit?”
Aleck nodded.
“Nor yet kick?”
The boy nodded again.
“There,” said the man, loosening the prisoned wrist. “Now, tell me, is it true?”