Guy listened to these words with a sneer upon his face. He was about
the same age and size as Hector, but his features were mean and
insignificant, and there was a shifty look in his eye that stamped
him as unreliable. He did not look like the Roscoes, though in many
respects he was in disposition and character similar to his father.

"It strikes me," he said, with an unpleasant smile, "that you're
taking a little too much upon yourself, Hector Roscoe. The buggy is
no more yours than mine."

"What do you say, Edward?" said Hector, appealing to the coachman.

"I say that the buggy is yours, and the horse is yours, and so I
told Master Guy, but he wouldn't take no notice of it."

"Do you hear that, Guy?"

"Yes, I do; and that's what I think of it," answered Guy, snapping
his fingers. "My father gave me permission to ride out in it, and
I've got just as much right to it as you, and perhaps more."

"You know better, Guy," said Hector, indignantly; "and I warn you
not to interfere with my rights hereafter."

"Suppose I do?" sneered Guy.

"Then I shall be under the necessity of giving you a lesson," said
Hector, calmly.