“Don’t mind Buzzsaw, Merriwell,” said the manager of the Outlaws. “This is his way when his liver goes wrong.”
“He needs to take something for his liver,” said Dick. “A shaking up would do it good. If he handed out enough loose tongue to some people he might get the shaking up.”
“Well, blamed if you ain’t a sassy young rat!” rasped Buzzsaw Stover, an ugly light in his eyes.
Harrison grasped the man’s shoulder, turned him around, and gave him a push.
“Go away, Stover,” he commanded. “You’ve been ready to fight with anybody for a week or more.”
“By and by,” laughed Dick quietly, “he will get what he’s hunting for.”
Stover walked out of the lobby.
A few minutes later Dick followed. He found Buzzsaw waiting on the street. The pugnacious Outlaw blocked Dick’s way.
“What you need, my baby, is a first-class spanking,” rasped Stover. “If you’d minded your own business, I’d had the rest of to-day and to-morrow to do as I please.”
“If I was manager of your team you would have the rest of to-day and to-morrow, and the brief remainder of this season, and all the seasons to come, to do as you please,” returned Dick quietly. “I would hand you a quick shoot that would land you at liberty to please yourself for all time.”