But B.J. broke in scornfully: 

“Aw, that old Scott, he’s a deader!  It reminds me of one of those new detective stories with clues and hair-breadth escapes.  And Tug is like ‘Iron-armed Ike,’ who took four villyuns, two in each hand, and swung them around his head till they got so dizzy that they swounded away, and then he threw one of ’em through a winder, and used the other three like baseball bats to knock down a gang of desperate ruffians that was comin’ to the rescue.  Oh, but I tell you, it was great!”

“’Strikes me,” Bobbles interrupted, “it’s more like one of Funnimore Hooper’s Indian stories, with the captives tied to the stake and bein’ tortured and scalluped, and all sorts of horrible things, when along comes old Leather-boots and picks ’em all off with his trusty rifle.”

Two or three others were evidently reminded of something else they were anxious to describe; but Heady was growing impatient and very wrathful, and he broke in: 

“Well, while you fellows are all being reminded of so many things, I’d like to ask just one thing, and that is, what are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing at all,” said History.  And thinking of his unexpected escape from his terrible adventure, he added quickly:  “I think we did mighty well to get out of it alive.”

“Pooh!” sniffed Heady, getting madder every moment.

“Well, Tug says the same thing,” drawled Sleepy.  “He says that we got the best of it all around, and that if anybody’s after revenge it ought to be the Crows, because we wiped ’em off the earth.”

“Bah!” snapped Heady.  “It isn’t enough for the Lakerim Athletic Club to get out of a thing even, and call quits.  Leastways, that wasn’t the pollersy when I used to be with you.”

This spirit of revolt from the calm advice of Tug seemed to be catching, and the other Lakerimmers were becoming much excited.  Tug made a speech, trying to calm the growing rage, and he was supported by History, who tried to bring up some historical parallels, but was ordered off the floor by the others.  Tug’s plan, which was seconded by History from motives of timidity, was thirded by Sleepy from motives of laziness.

But Heady leaped to his foot and delivered a wild plea for war, such another harangue as he had delivered during the famous snow-battle at the Hawk’s Nest.  He favored a sharp and speedy retaliation.

“Well, how are you going to retaliate?” said Tug, who saw his let-her-go policy losing all its force, and who began to grow just a bit eager himself to give the Crows a good lesson.  Still, he repeated, when Heady only looked puzzled and gave no answer: 

“How are you going to retaliate, I say?”

“A chance will come,” said Heady, solemnly.

And Reddy, who had been burning up with patriotic zeal for the glory of Lakerim, was so proud of his brother’s success in stirring up a warlike spirit that he moved over, and sat down beside him on the window-seat, and put his arms around him, and they never quarreled again—­till after supper.