Mark never winced at that; he gave the man a look straight in the eye.
“There are some people,” he said, “I am not afraid of. I am not afraid of you.”
The cadet’s face turned scarlet, and he clinched his fists angrily.
“You shall pay for that,” he cried. “You——”
But the spokesman of the committee seized him and forced him back.
“Shut up, old man,” he exclaimed. “Don’t you see what he’s trying to do. He’s afraid of Fischer, and he’s trying to force a fight with some one else. He’s a dirty coward, so let him alone.”
Mark heard that plainly, but he never moved a muscle. It was too much for our tinder-box Texan, however; Texas had been perspiring like a man in a torture chamber during this ordeal, and just then he leaped forward with a yell.
“You ole white-faced coyote, you, doggone your boots, I’ll——”
“Texas!” said Mark, in his quiet way.
And Texas shut up like an angry oyster and went back into the corner.