"Lawrence, get my coat," said he. "I've been bullied enough; I'm
going up to the house." When Stover only continued whittling
methodically, he burst out: "Stop honing that shin-bone! If you
like it you can eat it! I'm going now to swallow a stack of hot
cakes with maple syrup!"
"Mr. Speed," Willie impaled him with a steady glare, "you'll eat
what we tell you to, and nothin' else! If we say 'grass,' grass
it'll be. You're goin' to beat one Skinner if it takes a human
life. And if that life happens to be yours, you got nobody but
yourself to blame."
"Indeed!"
"You heard me! I've been set to ride herd on you daytimes, the
other boys'll guard you nights. We been double-crossed once--it
won't happen again."
"Then it amounts to this, does it: I'm your prisoner?"
"More of a prized possession," offered Stover. "If you ain't got
the loy'lty to stand by us, we got to _make_ you! This diet
is part of the programme. Now if you think beef is too hearty for
this time of day, tear into them eggs."
"You intend to make me eat this disgusting stuff, whether I want
to or not?" Even yet the youth could not convince himself that
this was other than a joke.
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