"Oh, can't you, Mr. High-and-mighty Captain!" snarled the manager, mocking Dick's dignified tones. "But you'll jolly well have to, or I'll know the reason why. You've got into my ribs for a lot of money--more perhaps than you dream of--and I guess I hold the whip-hand of you all right. You'll either take my poor boy's part at Foxenby or sup sorrow, Mr. Forge."
"Don't be vulgar, and don't be absurd, Mr. Mawdster. Keep business and private affairs apart. Admittedly, I cannot pay you yet for publishing the magazine, but on that account you shall not blackmail me."
At this the manager suddenly dropped his threatening manner, and became more like his old suave self. He commenced to wheedle.
"Look here, Mr. Forge, don't let us quarrel, you and me," he said. "You've got a rare lot of power at Foxenby if you like to use it. I appeal to you as a father. I love my boy--he's the only child we've got, and it cost a little fortune to rear him, he was so weak at first. But I'd spend another fortune--ay, all I've got in the world--to see him happy and to know he was making nice chums amongst gentlemen's sons up yonder. Stop them bullyin' him, Mr. Forge, and--and----"
"And I'll present you with a signed receipt for every penny that your magazine has cost me," the printer blurted out. "I say, that's fair, isn't it? You couldn't have a more sporting offer."
Beneath his calm exterior Dick was conscious of a heart that beat quickly and uncomfortably. Here, if he could bring himself to adopt it, was a way out of all his difficulties! But he gave no second thought to the temptation.
"It is neither a sporting offer nor a workable one, Mr. Mawdster," he answered, without hesitation. "I am sorry you are unhappy about your son, but I can do nothing for him."
"What! You, the Captain of Foxenby, can't save my poor lad from being beaten black and blue?"
"I have told you I cannot. It would be an unpardonable breach of school etiquette."
"Etiquette be blowed!" cried the manager. "You've got to stick up for my boy, or else----"
"Drop that, Mr. Mawdster. I won't be threatened. If you are dissatisfied with your son's treatment, why don't you write to his housemaster, or direct to the Head himself?"
"And have the poor, dear lad hounded out of the place as a tell-tale! Not much, young fellow--he's suffered enough already without that. See here, Mr. Stiff-neck Forge, you and I have got to have a straight talk about this editorial stunt of yours."