"What do you mean ?" "Oh," said he, still rather embarrassed, "it's no concern of mine at all, but when you came here about a year ago you were rather a nice boy." "Well," said I, not knowing exactly whether to be pleased or vexed.
"Well, you're not a nice boy now, you know!" I said nothing.

I knew he was right, and his abrupt words struck home harder than he thought for.
When Jack Smith, the night before, had called me a liar and a coward, I had fired up angrily.

But when the rackety Doubleday now told me I wasn't a nice boy, I somehow felt a sudden pang of shame and humility that was quite new to me.
"I suppose you're going to flare up," continued Doubleday, noticing my silence, "when you've pumped up the words.

I'll wait." "No, no," said I, not looking up.

"Go on." "It doesn't concern me a bit how you and your precious friend get on," pursued my companion, cutting a quill pen, "and I see you're not in the same boat now by any means.