“You’re lucky to get off so easy,” he declared.
“Easy!” exclaimed Moran. “Why, you t’umped me up in fine style. Where did you learn to handle your dukes that way? I am the champion of Fardale, but you’re too much for me.”
“Dern your picter!” said Tubbs. “What you need is a coat of tar and feathers.”
“No,” said Jolliby. “That’s wh-wh-wh-what Arlington needs.”
Moran slowly rose to his feet.
“Anyhow, I have got a good suit of clothes out of him,” he said. “That will help pay the extra for the slugging I went against. But that don’t settle it; he will hear from me again. He lied to me; you bet I will soak him for it, too!”
“Now, that’s where you’re talking, stranger,” nodded Brad. “If you agree to soak him good and plenty we will let you off; otherwise, it’s up to us to finish this job.”
“Let me alone and see if I don’t put it all over him the first chance I get. I swear I will, or my name is not Tom Moran!”
“Please don’t hit him,” entreated Smart. “That would be too bad.”
“Oh, I won’t hit him,” growled the fellow. “I will just knock the stuffing out of him!”