"And you struck me that cowardly blow over at Oakland the other day," cried Cragthorpe, who seemed to have nursed his wrath until it angered him to the striking point.
"When you went to school," mocked Tom, his coolness returning rapidly, "you studied out of a different book of definitions from the one I had. I was never taught that it was cowardice to defend a woman."
"What call had you to defend her?" insisted Cragthorpe, with a show of increasing anger. "Was it any of your affair?"
"Yes; the fact that the young woman was annoyed by you was excuse enough for my act."
"You spoiled my last chance with her when you humiliated me by a blow that I didn't get a chance to return at the time."
"I'm glad to hear that," retorted Tom, candidly.
"Oh, you are, are you?"
The working of passion in Cragthorpe's face was a fearful sight to see.
"And a fine thing you did for the young woman!" hissed the fellow. "I wanted to marry her. She has money enough to make her a prize," sneered the wretch. "Her brother is to go on trial for his life in a few days, and I am the only witness who could save him from the chain of evidence that the authorities are weaving about him. I made the offer to the girl to save her brother if she would wed me."