Facing the dread consequences of such a dilemma, Paul went slowly and
falteringly forward with the unhappy consciousness of his brother
following warily at his heels.

"Come to think of it," suggested Ham casually, "I guess you'd better
write a note before we go in--it seems a kind of shame to treat Jimmy
like that without givin' him any warnin'." He set the bucket in the path
and fumbled in his pocket for a scrap of paper. "I'll just help you
out," he volunteered graciously. "Start with his name--like this--'James
Marquess; Sir--.'"

Paul hesitated, and Ham took a step forward with a cool glint in his
eyes before which the other quailed. "I'll write it, Ham," he hastily
whimpered.

"James Marquess; Sir--" continued the laconic voice of the
directing mind. "If you think I am afraid of you, you have erred in
judgment. I don't like you and I don't care for your personal
appearance. If you so much as squint at me after school today I
intend to change the general appearance of your face. It won't be
handsome when I get through, but I guess it will be an improvement,
at that.

"Respectfully,

"Paul Burton."

The coerced writer groaned deeply as he scrawled the signature which
pledged him so irretrievably to battle. He felt that his autograph to
such a missive was distinctly inappropriate, and invited sure calamity.