“Why, what do you mean, Howard, by satisfaction?” he said. “You simply amaze me. You stoop low enough to rob my mail, and then, when you overhear me accusing you of the theft, you have the audacity to ask for satisfaction! What right have you to satisfaction? It is I that want satisfaction. I am the one who was wronged.”
Howard winced perceptibly as the mail was mentioned, but by the time Ray had stopped speaking, he had entirely recovered himself, and seemed even angrier and more aggressive than before.
“Mail!” he burst out. “What mail have I robbed? What letters of yours have I taken? Ray Wendell, take care how you accuse me of stealing——”
Howard’s hardihood was exasperating to Ray. That he had taken the letter was beyond doubt, and now that he should stand there and boldly deny it was almost more than Ray’s patience could stand.
“There is nothing to be gained by dodging in this manner, Howard,” he said. “You understand me perfectly. You know that you took from Ridley last week that letter which I and the college had been expecting from Slade, relating to the date of the convention. What your reasons may have been I can only guess, but that you robbed my mail is beyond question.”
“It’s an infernal lie!” shouted Howard, closing his fists threateningly, “and I’ll make you eat your words, I’ll make you——”
“You’ll do what?” exclaimed Ray, his eyes flashing.
“I’ll teach you not to accuse me of stealing,” he went on fiercely. “Why, what do you suppose I should want with your paltry letters?”
“Never mind discussing the reasons,” cried Ray, his temper now well up. “I say you stole that letter.”
“And I say you are a liar——”