"I have turned in my report," Burgess responded coldly.

"So the coach said, all but mine. I'm late. May I have my report now?"
Vic urged, trying to be composed.

"I have no further report for you." It was a cold-blooded thing
to say, but Burgess, though filled with jealousy, was conscientious
now in his belief that Burleigh was really a low grade fellow,
deserving no leniency nor recognition.

"But you haven't given me any standing yet, the coach says."
Vic's voice was dead calm.

"I have no standing to give you. You are below grade."

Vic's eyes blazed. "You dog!" was all he could say.

"Now, see here, Burleigh, there's no need to act any ruder
than you can help." Burleigh did not move, nor did
he take his yellow brown eyes from his instructor's face.
"What have you to say further? I thought you were in a hurry."
Burgess did not really mean a taunt in the last words.

"I have this to say." Victor Burleigh's voice had a menace in its depth
and power. "You have done this infamous thing, not because I deserve it,
but because you hate me on account of a girl--Elinor Wream."

"Stop!" Vincent Burgess commanded.