The clothes-pole clattered to the floor. The victim of his spirited charge was none other than his old enemy, Howard Randall, the fat boy. Teddy hastily flung aside his shield and doubled his fists.
“Thought you’d lick me, didn’t you,” sputtered Howard. “Had to get a clothes-pole and a boiler lid to do it, though. I c’n lick you with my two fists, and I’m goin’ to do it right now while no one’s lookin’.” Howard aimed a savage blow at Teddy, who dodged nimbly, placing the width of a narrow aisle table between them.
“’Fraid of me, ain’t you, baby,” sneered Howard, following Teddy up menacingly. “I’ll show you.”
Both boys reached the end of the protecting table at the same instant and met in the narrow aisle. Intent on what promised to be a real battle, neither had noted the approach of a very short, stout man, who, equally occupied in trying to gaze on both sides of the aisle at once, had not yet perceived them.
“Take that, you red-head.” With unseeing rage Howard lunged viciously, putting all his strength into the blow. Teddy again side-stepped.
A groan of deep anguish, followed by an angry snort rent the air.
Howard’s fist had missed Teddy but it had not missed the stout man. The force with which Howard had delivered his blow had caused him to lurch forward. Before he could recover his balance, he was seized in an iron grip.
“You young rascal,” growled the enraged recipient of the blow, “I’ll teach you to go about attacking customers!”
Teddy stood transfixed. Things had happened with most amazing suddenness.