Trevor grinned.
“Fancy, now! Honest, Dick, if you’re going to punch his head, I’d like blooming well to help you.”
“I dare say,” laughed his roommate, “but I’m not going to punch his head. Coming along?”
“And sit on the front doorstep in this weather and twiddle my thumbs? I fancy not, my dear. As the vulgar manner of speech hath it, ‘Guess again!’” And Trevor snuggled up ostentatiously to the warmth of the blaze. But after Dick had taken his departure he laid down his book and eyed the flames thoughtfully.
“I rather wish I had gone along,” he muttered. “It’s just possible that he is going to punch Taylor, after all.”
[CHAPTER XVI]
[A DECLARATION OF WAR]
Dick was lucky enough to find Roy Taylor at home, huddled close to the fireplace, and evidently busy with his studies. His welcome to-night was less suave than on the occasion of Dick’s previous visit. His greeting was almost impolite, and Dick, who on his way from the yard had resolved to keep his temper no matter what happened, already felt his anger rising.