“Two! Half a dozen.—I’ve not got my knife into you, though.”
“Who? Crofter?”
“Rather. I see no other way of taking it out of him. He shirks sports, and takes his pound of flesh out of the captaincy, although he knows he’s no right to it, and no one, not even the rowdies in the faggery, respects him.”
“That’s why we’re going steady,” said I, “just to rile him.”
“The only way to take it out of him is to make him sit up, and harry him,” said the amiable Pridgin. “I only hope, though, it won’t land me head of the house. I’m depending on you to beat me. But I’m not going to play second fiddle to Crofter.”
“It will serve you right if it does land you head,” responded Tempest. “If it does, we’ll have to keep you up to the mark and see you don’t shirk.”
“Don’t say that, old chap, or I shall jack it up,” said Pridgin, putting his feet upon the window-ledge. “Besides, does it occur to you that Redwood’s leaving, and that the second man up, if he’s one of us, is left not only captain of Sharpe’s but captain of Low Heath?”
“I know,” said Tempest quietly, “but they say Leslie of Selkirk’s is in the running for that.”
“Stuff and nonsense!” retorted Pridgin. “Tempest of Sharpe’s is the man for my money.”
Tempest laughed again; but it was a sort of laugh which did not bode well for Leslie of Selkirk’s.