The delighted men roared their approval.
At one side sat Mike Sullivan, scowling and seeming ugly. The cookee cut a fancy figure and stepped on the foot of the boss.
With a roar of rage, the man jumped up and grasped the dancer by the neck.
“You clumsy cub!” snarled Sullivan. “I’ll make ye keep yer eyes open!”
He drew back his hand to strike the boy.
Like a flash Frank Merriwell sprang forward and confronted the enraged man. Merry lifted one hand warningly, and spoke in a calm, even tone of voice:
“Don’t hit him, Sullivan!”
The boss turned and his eyes met Merriwell’s. The spectators gasped, for they expected to see the man drop the cookee and leap on the foolhardy lad who dared face him thus. Profound silence reigned in the camp, while two pairs of eyes fought a battle. Then came the greatest surprise of all, for Sullivan lowered his head, muttering:
“Ther fool wants to be careful not ter tread on my feet.”
Then he sat down.