“And you did,” commented Jack with a dry smile. “Well, Sam, my advice is to forget it. If you think you’ve been injured I’m sorry, but Ned Nevins appears to me to be an inoffensive sort of a lad, quiet and unassuming.”
“Oh, he just puts on that to fool you,” muttered Sam.
At this juncture, Jack was called away by one of the machinists and Sam, with a very bad grace, turned to some unfinished work at his lathe. He was still engaged at this when Ned happened to pass by.
“I got your note last night, Hinkley,” he said. “Why didn’t you give it to me in person instead of slipping it under the door?”
Sam made a sound resembling “G-r-r-r-r-r” and went on with what he was doing.
“As I suppose you know,” resumed Ned, “we shall see a good deal of each other in the future. Why can’t we be friends?”
Sam’s face contorted with rage as he dropped the tool he had been using and faced round on Ned.
“Because I hate you, that’s why. You’re nothing but an interloper and a faker and Jack Chadwick will find it out before very long.”
“I’m sorry you think that, Sam.”
“Why?” asked Sam, surprised at the other’s calm, even tone. His outburst appeared to have no effect whatever upon the lad he had desired to impress with his enmity.