None of his hearers took his words lightly. All were ready to consider them very gravely. Here, indeed, was an issue for a youthful court of honor; and it behooves such courts, young or old, to pass judgment in all solemnity.
“Well, I guess you’re entitled,” said Poke slowly.
The others, with one exception, nodded assent. The Shark looked unconvinced.
“Talking about chains,” he remarked, “you mustn’t forget the old rule: the chain’s no stronger than its weakest link. And there is a link that may be weak. I don’t say it is, but I do say it may be.”
“Rats!” snapped Step.
The Shark wheeled to face him. “Rats nothing! What’s the record—the school record—for the shot put?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The record. What is it?”
“Oh, thirty or thirty-five feet for the twelve-pound shot.”
The Shark frowned. “Confound it! but can’t you chaps make anything exact? ‘Thirty or thirty-five feet’! How’s anybody to make computations with all unknown quantities?”