Ira burst out laughing. “Whose is it, then?”
“Yours, of course. You said you wanted to fight——”
“I said so! When?”
“Well, that note said so, then.”
“I said I’d meet you whenever you liked,” protested Ira. “You don’t call that a—a challenge, do you?”
“N-no, maybe not, but it sort of sounded as if you wanted to finish up the scrap we started, and I couldn’t very well refuse, could I? If you didn’t want to fight what the dickens did you get me out of bed for at this unearthly hour?” Goodloe sounded pained and pathetic.
“That was your suggestion,” answered Ira. “I wasn’t crazy about scrapping before breakfast, or any other time.”
“Then—then you don’t want to fight?” demanded Goodloe.
“I’m not a bit keen about it,” laughed Ira. “I was only obliging you, Goodloe.”
“Well, I’ll be blowed! What do you know about that? Thunderation, I don’t want to fight you! Why should I? I made an ass of myself the other day and got knocked down, but I deserved it, and I’ve said so. You—you’re quite sure you don’t want to go ahead?”