“All’s fair in love and war,” quoted Graham, gaily. “It was a perfectly fair stratagem, and certainly a successful one, I think.”
“Who cares what you think! Take that for a last shot!” and Griffin, losing all control of his hot temper at these words from Graham, whom he had never forgiven for winning the election, suddenly raised his arm and flung a snowball he was holding in his hand—straight at Graham’s face.
Clark was standing near Griffin, and as his quick eye saw the look on the latter’s face and the sudden movement, he sprang forward, and struck up Griffin’s arm, and the ball, instead of knocking Graham over, went crashing through a big window in a fine house across the street.
A change came over every face, as the rattle of the falling glass was heard.
“You’re in for it, now, Grif,” said one.
“’Twasn’t my fault. ’Twas Clark’s. What did you knock my arm up for?” he added, turning angrily on Clark, and looking more than half inclined to strike him.
Clark did not flinch, as he answered gravely:—
“That ball might have hurt Graham pretty badly, Griffin.”
“Hurt him! I should say so!” cried Hamlin. “A ball that would break a window at this distance would have killed a fellow, sure. You must have thrown it with tremendous force, Griffin.”
Griffin dropped his eyes and said, sulkily:—