There was an uneasy movement among the students from Boxer Hall.
“I tell you he insulted me!” Harry could be heard to fiercely whisper, as he made an effort to rise.
“Now you sit right still!” said Dave Ogden, firmly. “If there was any insulting done, it was on your part first. I tell you to drop it. Randall is our rival, in more ways than one, but no one ever yet accused her of unfair tactics—least of all any of those fellows. You cut it out, Cedstrom, or you won’t know what happened to you!”
“That’s right,” chimed in Pinky Davenport, another Boxer lad. “That was a raw thing for you to say, Cedstrom, and it might make trouble for us.”
“I don’t care!” exclaimed the other, defiantly. “I wanted to take those fellows down a peg. The idea of them thinking they can row us!”
“Well, we’ll give them all the chance in the world,” declared Dave, good-naturedly; “but I think they’ll never see the bow of our shell in an eight-oared race. It takes more than one season to turn out champions.”
“That’s right,” agreed Pinky. “But you go a bit slow, Cedstrom. Those fellows are good friends of ours, even if they are rivals.”
“All right—no harm intended,” said the other, seeing that he had gone too far.
Aside from uneasy glances from time to time toward their rivals, our friends showed no further interest in the unpleasant incident. It had not come to the notice of others in the restaurant, for the students were in a room that, by custom, was set aside for their exclusive use.
“You got his number all right, Frank,” commented Phil.