“You are.”
“I ain’t follerin’ yer neither.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Yer mean ter tell me I’m lyin’?” shouted Tom, advancing with a threatening air.
“Sure.”
Tom’s hulking form was within a few inches’ of Blakeley and he thrust forward his lowered head and held his clenched fist conveniently ready at his side, but Roy did not budge. On the contrary, he seemed rather amused. He did not scare worth a cent.
“Yer want me ter hand ye one?”
“No, sure not.”
“Well then, was I lyin’?”
“Surest thing you know.”