“Speak right out, chummy,” said Kelley in a manner intended to be reassuring.  “I rudder t’inks yer wants ter lick some cove, an’ yer’ve come ter me ter put yer in shape ter do der job.  Well, you bet yer dough I’m der man ter do dat.  How many lessons will yer have?”

“It is not that at all,” declared Roll.

“Not dat?” cried Kelley in surprise.  “Den wot do youse want?”

“Well, you see, it is like this—­er, like this,” faltered Roland.  “I—­I’ve got an enemy.”

“Well, ain’t dat wot I said?”

“But I don’t want to fight him.”

“Oh, I sees!  Yer wants some odder chap ter do de trick?”

“Yes, that is it.  But I want them to more than lick him.”

“More dan lick him?  W’y, yer don’t want him killed, does yer?”

“No,” answered Ditson, hoarsely; “but I want his right arm broken.”

“Hey?”

Down came Buster Kelley’s feet from the table, upon which his knuckles fell, and then he arose from the chair, standing in a crouching position, with his hands resting on the table, across which he glared at Roland Ditson.

“Hey?” he squawked.  “Just say dat ag’in, cully.”

Roll was startled, and looked as if he longed to take to his heels and get away as quickly as possible; but he did not run, and he forced himself to say: 

“This is a case of business, professor.  I will pay liberally to have the job done as I want it.”

“An’ youse wants a bloke’s arm bruck?”

“Yes.”

“Well, dis is a quare deal!  If yer wanted his head bruck it wouldn’t s’prise me; but ter want his arm bruck—­jee!”

“I don’t care if he gets a rap on the head at the same time, but I don’t want him killed.  I want his right arm broken, and that is the job I am ready to pay for.”

Kelley straightened up somewhat, placed one hand on his hip, while the other rested on the table, crossed his legs, and regarded Ditson steadily with a stare that made Roll very nervous.

“I might ‘a’ knowed yer didn’t want ter fight him yerself,” the professor finally said, and Ditson did not fail to detect the contempt in his face and voice.

“No, I do not,” declared Ditson, an angry flush coming to his face.  “He is a scrapper, and I do not think I am his match in a brutal fight.”

“Brutal is good!  An’ yer wants his arm bruck?  Don’t propose to give him no show at all, eh?”

“I don’t care a continental what is done so long as he is fixed as I ask.”

“I s’pose ye’re one of them stujent fellers?”

“Yes, I am a student.”

“An’ t’other feller is a stujent?”

“Yes.”

“Dem fellers is easy.”

“Then you will do the job for me, will you?”

“Naw!” snorted Kelley.  “Not on yer nacheral!  Wot d’yer take me fer?  I don’t do notting of dat kind.  I’ve got a repertation to sustain, I has.”

Ditson looked disappointed.