“No—not that sort of business!” Sam cried wrathfully.
Zorn scowled. “You’re an idiot, then. I offer you a chance to get yourself and your crowd in right again, and you won’t have it, eh? What do you want? What do you propose to do?”
“Thrash you!” said Sam promptly. “There’s a licking coming to you, Zorn, and after what you’ve said to-day, it’s time you had it.”
Zorn laughed scornfully. “Guess I’ll have something more to say about that, Parker. The fellow that can whip me doesn’t wear your shoes.”
[SAM BEGAN TO WRIGGLE OUT OF HIS JACKET]
[Sam began to wriggle out of his jacket]. “You wait a minute, and we’ll see about that!” he said curtly.
But Zorn didn’t wait. There was a second in which Sam, with his arms still held by the sleeves of his half-removed coat, was helpless against attack. Zorn improved the chance, though by the schoolboy code he was violating all the principles of fair play. He struck Sam a vicious blow on the forehead. Under the impact Sam reeled; lost his footing; slipped down the bank of the ditch, and measured his length on the ground. As he struggled to his feet, and completed the task of freeing himself from his coat, Zorn, who had sprung to his machine and started his motor, was out of reach and retreating at speed.
Sam shouted a challenge to him to halt and accept combat. It is doubtful if Zorn heard his voice above the bark of the motor, but at that instant he turned in his saddle and waved a derisive farewell.