"Betcher life, b'gee!" responded the other, emphatically. "Only I wasn't as clever at it as you."
"Tell me about it," said Mark, with interest.
"It happened last Saturday afternoon, and I've been in hospital ever since, b'gee. Some of the cadets caught me taking a walk up somewhere near what they call 'Crow's Nest.' And so they set out to have some fun. Told me to climb a tree, in the first place. I looked at the tree, and, b'gee, there wasn't a limb for thirty feet, and the limbs there were rotten. There was one of 'em, a big, burly fellow with short hair and a scar on his cheek——"
"Bull Harris!" cried Mark.
"Yes," said Dewey, "that's what they called him—'Bull.'"
"Did you fight with him?"
"Betcher life, b'gee! He tried to make me climb that tree, and, b'gee, says I, 'I won't, b'gee!' Then I lammed him one in the eye——"
"Bully!" cried Mark, and then he added, "b'gee!" by way of company. "Did he beat you?"
"Betcher life," cried the other. "That is, the six of 'em did."
"You don't mean to say the crowd attacked you?"