"You lean, long-legged coward!" sneered Jack, angrily. "You know about
how much punk you'd have if I had my hands and legs free, and stood
before you on even terms. How you'd beg, you wretched craven!"

For answer the chauffeur clutched with both hands at Jack's hair, giving
a hard pull. Jack gritted his teeth, panting, until at last the
torment forced him to utter a pain-wrung "ouch!"

"Perhaps you will soon learn better than to insult me," leered Gaston.

"You wretched dog," shot back the submarine boy, "you're past insult
by any decent man!"

"Careful," warned the Frenchman, "or I will soon make you shriek your
apologies to me. I can do what I please with you, and sometimes I have
an ugly temper. But listen. I come for one purpose only--to find out
what answer am to take to my master, M. Lemaire."

"Take him," retorted Jack, dryly, "the assurance of my undying contempt
for him and all of his kind."

"You will be left here another twenty-four hours, without food or drink,
if you do not give me a better answer to take," warned Gaston, leering
down savagely into the boy's face. "Now, consider! Will you send word
that you will be glad to see M. Lemaire in the morning?"

"Yes; if he's going to be in state prison," mocked Benson, "and locked
in a cell, as he should be."