"You? Why would it be about you?" Tom attempted a laugh.
"Was it?" Steve persisted.
Tom shook his head, but his gaze wandered. Steve grunted.
"It was, then," he muttered.
"I didn't say so," protested Tom.
"I say so, though." Steve was silent a moment. Then, "Look here, Tom, there's no use your fighting every fellow who says things about me," he said. "If you try that, you'll have your hands full. I—I don't care what they say, anyway. Just you keep out of it. Understand?"
"Sure," answered the other untroubledly.
"Of course"—Steve hesitated in some embarrassment—"of course I appreciate your standing up for me and all that, but—but I'll fight my own battles, thanks, Tom."
"You're welcome," murmured Tom through the folds of the towel. "Keep the change. I'll fight if I want to, though."
"Not on my account, you won't," said Steve sternly.