"I do not know them myself," said the Parson. "But I have faith enough in Mr. Mallory to take his word that it was unavoidable."
"You must have a good deal," added Williams, his handsome face looking grave, "a good deal to risk being sent to Coventry."
"I am willing. Examples of yet higher devotion to a fides amicus, so to speak, are by no means extraordinary. Take the popular instance of Damon and Pythias, or, if you look for one yet more conspicuous, I would mention Prylocates and Tyndarus, in the well-known play of "The Captive," by Plautus, with which you are doubtless familiar."
And the Parson closed his learned discourse with his favorite occupation of wiping his brow.
"The risk is your own," responded the yearling, calmly. "You must not mind if the class resents your view of the case."
There was a few moments' silence after that, during which the Parson racked his head to think what to say next.
"You refuse, then, to fight Mr. Mallory?" he inquired at last.
"Absolutely!" responded the other. "Absolutely, until the class so directs."
Then the Parson drew a long breath, and prepared for the culminating stroke.
"What I say next, Mr. Williams," said he, "you will understand is said with all possible politeness and good feeling, but it must be said. Mr. Mallory has been insulted by some cadets as a coward. He must free himself from the suspicion. Mr. Williams, if a plebe should strike an older cadet, would that make a fight necessary?"