"Preposterous, Forge; most absurdly unlikely! No Fox could have whispered anything so stupid and harmful into the Village Idiot's ear."
"No Foxenby boy perhaps, but what was to prevent a grown-up fellow trying it on—Ike Doccan, for instance?"
The thrust was skilfully made, and its results exceeded Dick's hopes. Luke flushed to the eyes, only to lose his colour a moment later, looking pale indeed. He quickly regained his apparent serenity of manner, but Dick had seen quite enough in that one frightened look to convince him that it was worth while going on.
"I always believe in taking the bull by the horns, Harwood," he said, "and there's nobody to hear me if anything I say goes wide of the mark. In plain terms, then, why did Doccan egg on Fluffy Jim to spoil my last-minute goal at Walsbridge?"
"Ike Doccan blacks the boys' boots, and I am not accountable for his actions in or out of Holbeck's House," answered Luke. He was, to all appearances, his old calm self again.
"Harwood, you're fencing. In a duel of words I know I stand no show. Therefore, I make no bones about saying that I believe you and your select gang (inclusive of Ike Doccan) backed St. Cuthbert's to beat us in the Final tie."
"Forge, that is a monstrous charge to make—have a care!"
"Furthermore," went on Dick, "I believe that Ike Doccan was acting directly to your orders when he hoisted Fluffy Jim over the ropes to spoil my goal."
"Forge, I swear to you——"
"Shut up a minute—I know what you want to say. You didn't move a hand-stir in the rotten affair—of course not! You were far too crafty a skunk for that, so, after making a convenient guy of the Village Idiot, you hired a minion to do the rest of your dirty work for you. Deny it if you can!"