"Oh, no, you didn't," contradicted Clint, "for I was looking and your head was turned away until you jumped. There wasn't any stone thrown, and you know it. You're just trying to pick a scrap, Beaufort."
"Call me a liar, do you? I'll attend to you when I'm through with this long-haired galoot!" Beaufort contemptuously kicked Penny's shoe.
"Get up and fight, you! You can't shy rocks at me and get away with it!"
Penny had so far said nothing, but, although there was a gravely amused smile on his thin face, his eyes held a dangerous sparkle.
"It can't be done, Beaufort," he answered. "I'm not fighting today. You come around the day after school closes in the Spring and I'll talk with you."
"You're a coward," sneered the big youth. "You'll either get up and fight or I'll kick you down the bank!"
Clint was too angry now to remain longer diplomatic. "You're a fine one, Dreer," he declared hotly. "Why don't you fight your own battles and not bring a hired bully to do it for you?"
"Hired bully!" exploded Beaufort, who was working himself into a fine imitation of a rage. "For two cents I'd knock your head off, you fresh kid!"
Harmon Dreer only smirked. "It's no business of mine," he said. "If you fellows throw stones you've got to take the consequences, Thayer."
"When we do, we will, but you know well enough we didn't throw a stone, Dreer. You're picking on Durkin because Byrd knocked you down the other day. Why don't you go after him if you want trouble?"