“I can’t think of any reason, unless because it was true,” said Ben.
“Even if it were, how dared you turn against me? First you play the spy, and then informer. Paugh!”
“I see you admit it,” said Ben. “Well, if you want an answer I will give you one. You laid a plot for Hector Roscoe—one of the meanest, dirtiest plots I ever heard of, and I wasn’t going to see you lie him into a scrape while I could prevent it.”
“That’s enough, Platt!” exclaimed Jim, furiously. “Now, do you know what I am going to do?”
“I don’t feel particularly interested in the matter.”
“You will be, then. I am going to thrash you.”
“You wouldn’t if Hector Roscoe were here,” said Ben, not appearing to be much frightened.
“Well, he isn’t here, though if he were it wouldn’t make any difference. I’ll whip you so you can’t stand.”
Ben’s reply was to call “Wilkins!”
From a clump of bushes, where he had lurked, unobserved hitherto, sprang Wilkins, and joined his friend.