“Thar, naow! I knew you’d get yo’ eyes open,” laughed the other triumphantly.
“What do they want?” inquired Mark.
“You know what they want well as I do,” responded Texas. “They want you. They want you ’cause you’re the most B. J. plebe ever came to West Point, ’cause you dared to defy ’em, to refuse to be hazed, to lick ’em when they tried it, an’ to all ’round raise the biggest rumpus this hyar ole place ever see. That’s what!”
“Do you mean,” laughed Mark, “that they want me to fight some more?”
“Course they do!” roared Texas. “You old idiot, you! Why ain’t yo’ up hustlin’ fo’ the chance? You don’t appreciate yo’ opportunity, sah. Ef I had the chance to wallop them ole cadets like you’ve got—wow! You know what I’d do?”
“I’m not a fire-eating, wild and woolly cowboy hunting for fight,” responded Mark.
“That’s all right,” grinned the other. “You’ll do it when the time comes. I never see you run yit when you ought to be fightin’, an’ neither did them ole cadets. An’ say, Mark! There’s fun ahead! Whoop! You remember ever since you had the nerve to go to the hop, somethin’ no plebe ever dared do afore, them ole first class fellers vowed they’d make you sorry. You made ’em madder since by lickin’ one of ’em when they dared you to. An’ now they’re comin’ ’roun’ to git square.”
“Do you mean they’re going to make me fight every man in the class, as they said?” inquired Mark.
“That’s jes’ what I do!” cried Texas, gleefully. “Jes’ exactly! Come out hyer an’ see ’em yo’self.”