"Your friend's a bit chesty, Paul," he said. "Perhaps we'd better humor
him."

"No, stay where you are," said Paul. "If he thinks he's boss of me he's
mistaken." He glared wrathfully at Neil, and yet with a trifle of
uneasiness. Paul was no coward, but physical conflict with Neil was
something so contrary to the natural order that it appalled him. Neil
removed the gorgeous bottle-green velvet jacket that he wore in the
evenings, and threw open the study door. Then he faced Cowan. That
gentleman returned his gaze for a moment defiantly. But something in
Neil's expression caused his eyes to drop and seek the portal. He
laughed uneasily, and with simulated indifference laid his hand on
Paul's shoulder.

"Come on, old chap," he said, "let's get out before we're torn to bits.
There's no pleasure in staying with such a disagreeable fire-eater,
anyhow. Come up to my room, and let him cool off."

Paul hesitated, and then turned to follow Cowan, who was strolling
toward the door. Angry as he was, deep in his heart he was glad to avoid
conflict with his chum.

"All right," he answered in a voice that trembled, "we'll go;
but"--turning to Neil--"if you think I'm going to put up with this sort
of thing, you're mistaken. You can have this room, and I'll
get another."

"I'd suggest your rooming with Cowan," answered Neil, "since you're so
fond of him."