“What?” roared the young ruffian, raising his fists. “Do you see that?” and he put one out, doubled up.
“I do, and it’s mighty dirty, I can tell you.”
“Insult me, do you? I guess you don’t know who I am. Champion, see?—light-weight champion of this burg, and I wear four medals, and here they are,” and Bouncer threw back his coat 53 and vauntingly displayed four gleaming silver discs pinned to his vest.
“If you had four more, big as cartwheels, I don’t see how I would be interested,” observed Ralph.
“You don’t?” yelled Bouncer, hopping mad at failing to dazzle this new opponent with an acquisition that had awed his juvenile cohorts and admirers. “Why, I’ll grind you to powder! Strip.”
With this Bouncer threw off his coat, and there was a scuffle among his minions to secure the honor of holding it.
“I don’t intend to strip,” remarked Ralph, “and I don’t want to strike you, but you’ve got to open a way for myself and my friend to go about our business, or I’ll knock you down.”
“You’ll––Fellows, hear him!” shrieked Bouncer, dancing from foot to foot. “Oh, you mincemeat! up with your fists! It’s business now.”
The young engineer saw that it was impossible to evade a fight. The allusion of Bouncer to Jim Evans was enlightening. It explained the animus of the present attack.
If Lemuel Fogg had been bent on queering the special record run to Bridgeport out of jealousy, Evans, a former boon companion of the fireman, 54 had it in for Ralph on a more malicious basis. The young railroader knew that Evans was capable of any meanness or cruelty to pay him back for causing his arrest as an incendiary during the recent railroad strike on the Great Northern.