The Shark glanced from one to another. His manner was still grim.
“That’s right—think it over!” said he. “Let it sink in. And don’t forget the rest of the class is watching the club. I’ve had a couple of nasty raps handed me about a gang that put on a lot of side, yet didn’t have sand enough to make good at anything requiring real work.”
“Who said that?” asked Sam.
“Never mind! It was said—said to me.”
“I’ve heard something of the sort,” said Tom Orkney quietly.
Two or three of the others stirred uneasily; it was to be inferred that they, too, had been reminded of the club’s inactivity.
The Shark picked up his cap.
“Well, I feel better,” quoth he. “I’ve got the thing off my chest. I’ve got to cut along now, but you fellows can mull over what I’ve told you. The lecture’s over; but it’s up to you to show whether or not it’s going to do any good.”
With that he walked out of the room, leaving a group whose members seemed to be of diverse opinions about his views. Step declared that it was hopeless to attempt to win the competition; Herman and the Trojan were uncertain; Orkney inclined to the idea that the attempt would be worth making.
Poke, his face puckered and his air a bit mysterious, drew Sam aside.