“Look here,” he said, sternly, “we won’t have any of that, Harry. What you ought to have is a mighty good hiding, and I’ve got more than half a mind to give it to you. Now stop that noise and behave yourself. Do you hear? If you don’t, I’ll turn you over and spank you until you’ll have something to yell for!”
The threat served its purpose. Harry ceased his noise and stopped struggling, but the looks he gave his roommate were full of hate.
“You—you make me sick,” he muttered. “Just because you helped Gerald pull me out of the pond last year you think you can do anything you like. But I’ll show you! It wasn’t you saved my life, anyway; it was Gerald. You just helped pull me ashore. You give me those books right away, Arthur Thompson, or it will be the worse for you. You think I can’t get even, but I can. I know a way, a dandy way!” He smiled maliciously. “You’d better do what I say or you’ll be sorry for it!”
“You keep quiet,” answered Arthur, calmly, his own anger having worn itself out. “I don’t care for your threats, my son. The long and short of it is that you don’t get those books to mess around with until you get outdoors every day for a week. That’s settled.”
Harry’s manner suddenly became as quiet as Arthur’s. He sat up on the bed and smoothed his rumpled attire. Then he walked to the table and picked up his cap.
“All right,” he said, darkly. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’ll give you one more chance. Do I get my books?”
“You do not,” replied Arthur, emphatically.
Harry opened the door and turned for a parting shot.