"You're a liar!" I shouted. "Liar! Liar! Liar!"
Dad's face got purple like it always does when he's mad, and his hands shook. For a moment I thought he was going to jump for me; he never has, no matter how mad he gets. Then he leaned back again in his chair and turned to Twigg with a beast of a sneer on his face.
"You see?" he asked, with a shrug. "Nice, sweet-tempered, clean-tongued youth, isn't he? Want to call it off?"
I looked scowlingly at Twigg. He was leaning back, hands in pockets, looking at me through half-closed eyes as though I was a side show at a circus. I stared back at him defiantly. "Have a look," I jeered. He raised a finger and scratched the side of his nose without taking his eyes off me, just as though he was a doctor trying to decide what nasty stuff to give me. After a bit I dropped my eyes; I tried not to, but they got to blinking.
"No," said Twigg. "If you don't mind I'll walk back to the station and telegraph for my trunk."
"Sit still," said dad, "and I'll get the cart around. Or you can write your message and I'll have Forbes send it."
"Thanks," said Twigg, "I'd like the walk." He turned to me. "Want to go along?"
I grinned at him.
"No, I don't want to go along," I said mockingly.
He didn't seem to notice.