Pen was not looking at his grandfather. If he had been he would have seen a twinkle of satisfaction in the old gentleman's eyes. It was something for a veteran of the civil war to have a grandson who had been chosen to the leadership of his fellows for the purpose of engaging in juvenile hostilities. So there was no shadow of reproof in the colonel's voice as he asked his next question.
"And what, may I inquire, is, or has been, the casus belli?"
"The what, sir?"
"The—a—cause or causes which have produced the present state of hostility."
"Why, I don't know—nothing in particular, I guess—only they're all the time doing mean things, and boasting they can lick us if we give 'em a chance; and I—I'm for giving 'em the chance."
Reproof or no reproof, he had spoken his mind. He had risen from his chair, and stood before his grandfather with determination written in every line of his flushed face. Colonel Butler looked at him and chuckled.
"Very good!" he said. He chuckled again and repeated: "Very good!"
Pen stared at him in astonishment. He could not quite understand his attitude.
"Now, Penfield," continued the old gentleman, "mind you, I do not approve of petty jealousies and quarrelings, nor of causeless assaults. But, when any person is assailed, it is his peculiar privilege, sir, to hit back. And when he hits he should hit hard. He should use both strategy and force. He should see to it, sir, that his enemy is punished. Have your two hostile bodies yet met in open conflict on the field?"
"Why," replied Pen, still amazed at the course things were taking, "we've had one or two rather lively little scraps. But I suppose, after what happened to-day, they'll want to fight. If they do want to, we're ready for 'em."