“That depends altogether on how one looks at it,” said he.
When Walter Jordan spoke there was a ring in his voice which Ned Chandler knew well.
“Looked at in the right way,” said the lad, “and by that I mean the way in which any fair and honest person would look at it, there can be only one opinion. And that is the one which I have given.”
The bullet-headed young man grinned widely, showing a row of strong teeth, with wide spaces between them. He nodded to Colonel Huntley.
“That’s talking,” said he. “Right to your face, too.”
Huntley had a satisfied look in his face; his cold eyes examined Walter from head to foot. Ned Chandler plucked at his friend’s sleeve, and breathed into his ear.
“Look out! He’s trying to get you into some kind of a muss.”
“So,” spoke Huntley, and his tones were as cold as his eyes, “you don’t consider me either fair or honest, then?”
Walter met the man’s look steadily.
“I have not mentioned you,” said he. “I referred to those persons who might, as you suggested, speak ill of my father. You have not said what you thought, sir.”