"Why can't I, if I want to?"
"But--but they'd expel you or--or something."
"I wonder! Well, maybe they would. Yes, I guess so. Consequently, I'll knock him down on my own account--ostensibly, Clint, ostensibly."
"Don't be an ass," begged the other. "You can't do that."
Amy doubled a capable-looking fist and viewed it thoughtfully. "I think I can," he responded grimly.
"Oh, you know what I mean, Clint. You haven't any quarrel with Dreer."
"I told him that the next time he talked rot about how much better Claflin is than Brimfield I'd lick him. I gave him fair warning, and he knows I'll do it, too."
"All right, but he hasn't said anything like that, has he?"
"Not that I know of, but"--Amy's smile deepened--"something tells me he's going to! Come on over here where I won't have to shout at you." Amy patted the window-seat. "That door isn't so awfully thick, I'm thinking."
Clint obeyed, and for the next ten minutes Amy explained and Clint demurred, objected and, finally, yielded. In such manner was the plot to avenge Penny Durkin's wrongs hatched.