Tip, as soon as he caught sight of the young fellow who imagined
himself an "aristocrat," began to grin in his evil way.

A dull, sullen, red fired Fred's cheeks when he caught sight of
the one who was waiting for him.

"Ye're most nearly on time," Tip informed the other.

"See here, Scammon, what in blazes did you mean by sending me
a note like the one I got from you" demanded Fred?

Tip only grinned.

"What did you mean, fellow?" Ripley insisted angrily.

"I meant to get ye here, to let ye know what I had to say to ye,"
Scammon retorted.

"Why, confound you, fellow---" Fred began, stuttering a bit, but
the other cut in on him in short fashion.

"None o' that to me, now, Fred Ripley. D'ye hear? Me an' you
used to be pretty good pals, once on a time."

At this charge, Fred winced very plainly.

"And maybe we'll be pals, now, too," Tip pursued, with the air
of one who believed himself to be able to dictate terms. "That
is, for your sake, I hope we are, Ripley."