Orkney shrugged his shoulders. “It’s plain enough you’re looking for a fight, and don’t care how you get it. Now, I tell you, in the first place, that all this stuff you’re hinting and insinuating is gibberish to me; and in the second place that if you want fight I’ll give you all you’re looking for and more, too.”
“Now?” demanded Sam.
“No,” said Orkney, and grinned a queer, savage grin. “What’s more, you know why I won’t fight now. It’s my day to speak for the Lester prize, and a pretty chance I’d have for it, wouldn’t I, standing up before the school with a black eye or a cut lip? You talk about bluffs! Where’s there a bigger bluff than asking a fellow to fight when you know he can’t take you on? Or maybe this is your game: You’re scheming to batter me up so that one of your gang can carry off the Lester, eh?”
“I hadn’t thought of the prize-speaking!”
“Well, I’ve been thinking of it for some time. And I don’t propose to let you ruin my chances.”
Sam fell back a pace. There was an element of reason in the other’s contention, which he could not ignore.
“Well, if I let you off now——” he began.
Orkney’s grin was sardonic. “‘Let me off’ is good, but we’ll also let that pass. I’m busy this morning, as I’ve explained, but after that—well, you can suit your own convenience in picking a time for taking a good licking.”
“This afternoon, then——” stormed Sam.
“Oh, suit yourself!” said Orkney curtly, and marched off.