"Shut up!" he growled. "Mind your business!"
Stanard gazed at him in silence.
"I guess I'll have to knock him down again," he said to himself.
But he didn't, at least, not then; and Texas pranced up to his room and flung himself into a chair, muttering uncomplimentary remarks about Mark and West Point and everything in it. It was just half-past four when he entered, and for fifteen minutes he sat and pounded the floor with his heel in rage. Texas was about as mad as he knew how to be, which was very mad indeed. And then suddenly there was a step in the hall and the door was burst open. Texas turned and looked.
It was Mark!
Texas sprang to his feet in an instant, all his wrath aflame. Mark had come in hurriedly, for he had evidently been running.
"What happened——" he began, but he got no further.
"You confounded coward!" roared Texas. "Whar did you git the nerve to show yo' face round hyar?"
"Why, Texas?" exclaimed Mark, in amazement.
Texas was prancing up and down the room, his fingers twitching.