“Well, Treplin,” came an unmistakable voice from the doorway, “you’re looking strenuous for a man just off the sickbed.”
CHAPTER X—THE DUEL BEGINS
“I’m feeling pretty good, thank you, Reivers,” said Toppy quietly, though the voice of the man had thrilled him with the challenge in it. He turned his head slowly and looked up from his chair at Reivers with an expression of great serenity. The Big Game had begun between them, and Toppy was an expert at keeping his play hidden.
“Much obliged for strapping up my ankle, Reivers,” he said. “Silly thing, to sprain an ankle; but thanks to your expert bandaging it’ll be ready to walk on soon.”
“It wasn’t a bad sprain,” said Reivers, moving up and standing in front of him. That was Reivers all through. Toppy was sitting; Reivers was standing, looking down on him, his favourite pose. The black anger boiled in Toppy’s heart, but by his expression one could read only that he was a grateful young man.
“No, it wasn’t a bad sprain,” continued Reivers, his upper lip lifting in its customary smile of scorn, “but—a man who attempts such heavy lifts must have no weak spot in him.”
Toppy twisted himself into a more comfortable position in his chair and smiled.
“‘Attempts’ is hardly the right word there, Reivers. Pardon me for differing with you,” he laughed. “You may remember that the attempt was a success.”
A glint of amusement in Reivers’ cold eyes showed that he appreciated that something more weighty than a mere question of words lay beneath that apparently casual remark. For an instant his eyes narrowed, as if trying to see beyond Toppy’s smile and read what lay behind, but Toppy’s good poker-face now stood him in good stead, and he looked blandly back at Reivers’ peering eyes and continued to smile. Reivers laughed.
“Quite right, Treplin; obliged to you for correcting me,” he said. “A chap gets rusty out here, where none of the laws of speech are observed. I’ll depend upon you to bring me back to form again—later on. Is your ankle really feeling strong?”