“They’re coming to see the fun!” said Wilkins.
“I suppose you mean the fight between Jim Smith and myself.”
“Well, not exactly. They’ve come to see you thrashed.”
Hector smiled.
“Suppose they should see Jim thrashed instead—what then?”
“They might be surprised: but I don’t think they will be,” answered Wilkins, dryly. He was, on the whole, well disposed toward Hector, and he certainly disliked Jim heartily, but he did not allow his judgment to be swayed by his preferences, and he could foresee but one issue to the impending conflict. There was one thing that puzzled him exceedingly, and that was Hector’s coolness on the brink of a severe thrashing, such as Jim was sure to give him for his daring defiance and disregard of his authority.
“You’re a queer boy, Hector,” he said. “You don’t seem in the least alarmed.”
“I am not in the least alarmed,” answered Hector. “Why should I be?”
“You don’t mind being thrashed, then?”
“I might mind; but I don’t mean to be thrashed if I can help it.”