“You leave this fellow to me; I’ll take care of him. I can whip him out of his boots.”
“I shall stick to my boots for the present,” replied Burchmore, who did not seem to be intimidated by the sharp conduct of the Briton. “I am willing to listen to reason, but I shall not be bullied into anything.”
“What do you mean by bullied? Do you call me a bully?” foamed Clyde.
“You can draw your own inferences.”
“Do you call me a bully?” demanded Clyde, doubling his fists, and walking up to the cashier.
“Enough of this,” said Sanford, stepping between the Briton and his intended victim. “We shall not allow anybody to lick Burchmore, for he is a good fellow, and always means right.”
“I don’t allow any fellow to call me a bully,” replied Clyde.
“He didn’t call you a bully. He only said he would not be bullied into anything.”
“It’s the same thing.”
“No matter if it is, Old England. You volunteered to pound him if he wouldn’t go with us; and it strikes me that this is something like bullying,” added the coxswain, with a cheerful smile.