HAL SHOWS HIS METTLE.
Hal understood perfectly well that a crisis had come. Hardwick had him by the throat, and unless he acceded to the book-keeper's demand he would be in immediate danger of being choked to death.
"Let—let go of me," he gasped.
"Not until you do as I say," replied Hardwick. "I want you to understand that you can't get the best of me."
Hal tried to push Hardwick away, but the book-keeper made a pass at him with the heavy ruler.
"Keep quiet, if you value your head!" roared Hardwick.
"Let me go!"
"Not until you have told me what you mean by your doings."
"What doings?"
"Your doings up to Mrs. Ricket's."
"Who told you about what happened up there?"
"Never mind; I know all about it."
"Then Ferris saw you last night."
"No, he didn't."
"Or this morning."
"Shut up. You implicated me."
"Did Dick Ferris say I did?" asked Hal.
"Never mind who said so. I want to know what you mean by such work?"
Hal did not reply. He was trying to think. What was Ferris' object in telling Hardwick he had been mentioned in connection with the matter?
Clearly there could be but one reason. Ferris knew Hardwick already disliked Hal, and he wished to put the book-keeper against the youth, so as to get Hal into more difficulties.
"Do you hear me?" demanded Hardwick, giving Hal an extra squeeze on the throat.
"I do," gulped Hal. "Let—go—of me."
"Not until you have answered."
Hal commenced to struggle. Seeing this, Hardwick tried to strike him with the ruler, which, on account of its brass-bound edge, was an ugly weapon. The ruler came down twice, the second time cutting a gash on the youth's neck, from which the blood flowed copiously.
This last blow aroused all the lion in Hal's nature. As the reader knows, he was a well-built boy, and strong for his age. He gave a sudden wrench and broke away.
"Stand back!" he cried. "Don't you dare to touch me again!"
Hardwick glanced toward the door, to see that no one was coming.
"I'll show you!" he hissed, passionately.
He rushed at Hal again. The youth saw him coming, and, drawing back his arm, he planted a blow on Hardwick's nose that sent the blood spurting in all directions.
Hardwick was more surprised than hurt. Had that poor house chap dared to hit him? He turned first red and then white.
"I'll fix you!" he cried.
"Stand back, I tell you!" commanded Hal; he was getting excited himself.
But Hardwick would not stand back, and, as a consequence, he received a blow on the forehead that almost stunned him.
"You beggar, you've got muscle, haven't you?" he cried. "We'll try a different method with you."
He ran toward his desk, and opened it. An instant later Hal saw a revolver in his hand.
"Now we will see who is on top here," said Hardwick.
It would be useless to deny that Hal was frightened at the sight of the shining barrel. He backed several feet.
"I thought that would bring you to terms," said Hardwick. "Now, will you answer my question?"
"You will not dare to shoot me," returned the youth, as calmly as he could.
"Don't be too sure. I intend that you shall answer me."
Hal looked about him. He had backed toward the rear of the office. The window was unlocked. Could he leap through it?
Hardwick followed the youth's look and understood it.
"No, you don't," he said, and, moving toward the window, he locked it.
The only way that now remained to escape was by the street door. Hardwick placed himself in front of this.
"Give me the key to this door," he demanded.
The key hung on a nail close to where Hal was standing.
Instead of complying, Hal took down the key, and placed it in his pocket.
"Did you hear me?" went on the book-keeper.
"I did."
"You are playing with fire, young man."
"Am I?"
"You are. You think I haven't nerve enough to go ahead, but you'll find out your mistake. I'll give you just ten seconds in which to hand me that key."
Hal made no reply.
"Did you hear?"
"I did."
"Are you going to mind?"
"No."
Hardwick aimed the pistol at Hal's head. Whether or not he would have fired cannot be told, for at that instant the door opened, and Mr. Sumner stepped in.
"I forgot my——" he began, and then stopped short in amazement.
"Mr. Sumner!" cried Hal. "I am glad you have come."
"What is the meaning of this?" gasped the elderly broker.
He looked at Hardwick and then at the pistol.
The book-keeper dropped back, unable for the moment to say a word.
"He intended to shoot me," said Hal.
"That is a falsehood!" exclaimed Hardwick.
"It's the truth," retorted the youth.
"No such thing! The young tramp pulled this pistol, and I just snatched it away from him."
Hal was amazed at this deliberate falsehood. Mr. Sumner turned to him.
"Did you have that pistol first?" he asked.
"No, sir."
"I say he did," put in Hardwick.
"I never owned a pistol," added Hal.
"Then he must have stolen it," sneered Hardwick. "I tell you, Mr. Sumner, he is a bad egg, and he ought to be discharged."
"Perhaps," responded the elderly broker, dryly. "Just hand the weapon to me."
Hardwick did so, and Mr. Sumner examined it.
"Do you carry such a weapon?" he asked, shortly.
"No, sir."
"Don't own one, I presume?"
"I must say I do not."
"Humph! So you say Carson drew it on you?"
"He did."
"Mr. Sumner——" began Hal.
"Stop, Carson, until I get through with Mr. Hardwick. What was the cause of this quarrel?"
"The boy got impudent, and I threatened to report him and have him discharged."
"Is that all?"
"Yes. He is an unmannerly dog."
"I didn't think so when I hired him."
"He is, Mr. Sumner."
The elderly broker examined the pistol again.
"I wish you would explain one thing to me, Mr. Hardwick," he said slowly.
"What is that, sir?"
"It is this: If you do not own a pistol how does it happen that I saw this very weapon in your desk over a week ago?"
The book-keeper started back and changed color.
"What—what do you mean?" he faltered.
"Just what I say. About a week ago I had occasion to go to your desk for a certain paper, and I saw this very weapon lying in one corner."
"There—there must be some mistake."
"None, sir. This is your pistol, and I believe you pulled it upon this boy."
Hal's face beamed. The cloud that had gathered so suddenly seemed to be breaking away.
"Why should I draw it on the young cub?" growled Hardwick, not knowing exactly what to say.
"Because you have a spite against Carson, and you wish to get him into trouble. I used to think you a fair and square man, Hardwick, but I find I am mistaken."