“Do you mean that for me, sir?”
“I shot at random, Clemmons; and if you got in the way it is your lookout, not mine.”
“I wish you to explain your ambiguous words,” said Clemmons hotly.
“Permit me to do so,” was the response. “You were pleased to apply an insulting application to my roommate and friend, Mark Merrill, and as he has suffered much secret persecution from one who would stab him in the back, I say that one can no more protect oneself from a secret assassin than you can make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. Now, if the shoe fits you, put it on and wear it.”
“As it does not, there is no cause of quarrel between us,” Scott Clemmons said, retreating through the exit open to him.
“You are wise,” and with this Bemis Perry walked away, and as he did so he muttered to himself:
“I will do it.”
An hour after found him in the presence of the commandant, waiting to be heard by that august personage.
“Well, Mr. Perry, what is it?” said the commandant, somewhat abruptly.
“I have no complaint to make, commandant, for myself, but I have an explanation to offer in behalf of another.”