“Yes. Of course, if you’d rather bring some fellow with you, I don’t mind. I’ll do the same, if you like. Only I don’t see any use in having a crowd, what?”
“N-no; and I don’t think I know anyone who would go with me.” He did think of Nead, but somehow Nead didn’t appeal to him in the rôle of second. “We can get along without help, I guess,” he added.
“Sure! You may have to carry me home, or I may have to lug you back,” chuckled Goodloe, “and I hope it’ll be the latter way. No use in fighting rounds, is there? Just dig in and keep at it until we’ve had enough, what?”
“I think so.”
“Good! And now that that’s settled,” said Goodloe, “I’d like to say that—well, I guess I want to apologise, Rowland, for anything I said yesterday that wasn’t decent. I had a sort of a grouch, I guess.”
“All right,” assented Ira. “Maybe I was sort of flarey, too.”
“No, you weren’t,” Goodloe laughed. “You were about as cool as they make ’em. Do you ever lose your head and get rattled?”
Ira smiled slowly. “I guess so—sometimes. I did yesterday.”
“No one would have known it! Rather jolly room you’ve got here. All alone? Oh, I see you’re not.”
“No, there’s a fellow named Nead in with me.”