“What do you mean?”
“What I say,” said Dick, a trifle pale, and breathing hard.
“Will you fight?” said Culver.
“Yes,” said Dick, in a dream, for his head was swimming round, and he forgot where he was, and what the row was about.
“You mean it?” once more asked the president.
“Yes, I do,” again retorted Dick.
“Very well,” said Culver.
Instantly there was a stampede of the Den, and cries of “a fight!” shook the halls and passages of Templeton.
The Sixth heard it in their lofty regions, whither they had retired after the fatigue of levée.
“Pity to stop it,” said Birket, who reported the state of the matter to the seniors. “It’ll do good.”