"I am ready to suffer now, if you are able to make me," said Hector.
"Come on, and we'll settle it now."

But Guy had no desire for the contest to which he was invited. He
had a wholesome fear of Hector's strong, muscular arms, aided, as
they were, by some knowledge of boxing. Hector had never taken
regular lessons, but a private tutor, whom his father had employed,
a graduate of Yale, had instructed him in the rudiments of the
"manly art of self-defense," and Hector was very well able to take
care of himself against any boy of his own size and strength. In
size, Guy was his equal, but in strength he was quite inferior. This
Guy knew full well, and, angry as he was, he by no means lost sight
of prudence.

"I don't choose to dirty my hands with you," he said. "I shall tell
my father, and it would serve you right if he sent you adrift."

In Hector's present mood, he would not, perhaps, have cared much if
this threat had been carried into execution, but he was not
altogether reckless, and he felt that it was best to remain under
Mr. Roscoe's protection until he had had time to investigate the
remarkable story which he suspected his reputed uncle had trumped up
to serve his own interests.

"Tell your father, if you like," said Hector, quietly. "I don't know
whether he will sustain you or not in your insults, but if he does,
then I shall have two opponents instead of one."

"Does that mean that you will attack my father?" demanded Guy,