"Who is that whistling?" interrupted Billy.
"That's old Boreas—he must have just made a good deal in ice and is whistling over it—by the way, he's a good friend to Bogie Man and Nickel Plate."
"Then he's no friend of mine."
"I shouldn't fear him," said Fuzzy, "he's a fearful blow-hard, and though he's certainly cold blooded, he makes more noise than anything else."
"Talking about me, were you?" said Boreas, arriving in a swirl of snow and clicking the ice tongs he held in his hand.
"We—we merely mentioned your name," said Billy, trying to turn his back on him. But that was useless, for old Boreas faced him whichever way he turned.
"You can't escape me that way," and he threw a handful of snow in Billy's face.
"Stop it!" cried Billy, "it's no joke to treat a fellow this way."
"Of course it is," said Boreas, jumping over Billy's head.