Porshinger looked at him in disgust.
"Why don't you go and tell them so!" he sneered. "They'll likely be courteous and biff you again."
"Probably they would," admitted Murchison good-naturedly.
"I didn't know they were so handy with their fists," Porshinger growled—he was bathing an eye in cold water.
"Maybe we were only particularly unhandy with ours," the other remarked. "At any rate, they're better than us, all right."
"Better at the fist-game, yes," retorted Porshinger. "We'll see now if they're better at some other games, damn them."
"Better forget it—and hold our tongues," Murchison advised again.
"Forget it? Not me! I never forget an injury—and I usually square off my debts. See!"