"That's a silly demand on your part," Dick retorted calmly. "Why should you want my hands up? I'm not armed, and am in no position to attack you. Are you such a coward, Mosher, that you're afraid of an unarmed fellow that you could thrash even if you were unarmed? I can't bring myself to believe that of you.
"You've a mighty fine opinion of me, haven't you?" jeered Tag.
"I'd like to have a fine opinion of you," Prescott declared.
"Oh! And what must I do to win that fine opinion?" demanded Tag mockingly.
"If you want to know, I'll tell you," Dick continued. "Just put down that gun and step away from it."
"And then you'll pounce on it and hold me up!" jeered Tag. "Fine!"
"You get away from your weapon," Prescott urged, "and I'll give you my word of honor not to touch it without your leave."
"Your word of honor?" asked Tag, driven to wonder despite himself.
"What good would your word of honor be?"
"It would be as good as anything I'm capable of," Prescott responded.
"Tag, didn't you ever have any respect for a man's word of honor?
Didn't you ever respect your own?"
"I got that game played on me at school, once," leered Mosher. "As soon as I swallowed the bait the other fellow kicked me in the shins and ran off and left me there. Now, Prescott, I don't want any more nonsense. Put up your hands!"