“Well?” said Sam coldly.
There was a little pause. Orkney was meeting Sam’s searching gaze without flinching, but his sallow face had taken on a grayish pallor.
“Parker, I’ve got something to say to you. And I want to say it now. Yesterday you yanked me out of a bad fix. It was a great job you did. I’d like to have you know I appreciate it, even if I don’t seem to be able to say much more than ‘Thank you!’”
“Oh, that’s all right!” said Sam, hastily and, it may be, gruffly. “Don’t bother your head about it. Forget it!”
“Can’t!” growled Orkney, gruff in his turn. “That brings me to something else I’ve got to say and you’ve got to hear. That other matter—you know?”
Sam nodded. The “other matter,” of course, was the engagement to fight.
“This—this is harder to—to get right.” Orkney plainly found explanation difficult. “You put something up to me, and I said yes. I meant yes; suited me. But you’ve complicated the situation. When you pulled me out of the pond you tied my hands—don’t you see that?”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“You did, all the same. I won’t go into details, with all these long-ears rubbering; but you don’t need details, anyway.”
The youths referred to as “long-ears” had the grace to retire a pace or two, but their liking for their critic was not heightened.