“I get your drift—guess I do,” said Sam. “But here! You’re free to forget yesterday’s business. Wish you would!”
“Don’t think I wouldn’t—if I could!” There was an ugly gleam in Orkney’s eyes. “That’s out of the question, though. So my hands are tied, as I tell you.”
“They needn’t be.”
Orkney shook his head. “It’s all very well for you to take that attitude, but I can’t. I’m in your debt—deep in it. So there are things I can’t do that I’d mighty well like to do.” And again the ugly gleam was in evidence.
A wave of the old anger seemed to sweep over Sam.
“Go ahead and try ’em, then!” he cried savagely.
Two spots of red, of a sudden, burned in Orkney’s cheeks, but he kept his self-control.
“There’s no use talking—I can see that,” he said grimly; turned, and marched alone up the steps to the great door.
The decisions of youth are decisions of a drumhead court-martial, to be carried out on the spot.
The school had but one verdict to give in the case of Thomas Orkney. As he disappeared in the corridor, there was a chorus of hisses and groans.