“Leggo!” he snarled; “leggo, or I’ll smash ye!”
“What were you doing to that wheel?” demanded Frank.
“None o’ yer business!” roared the hostler. Then he dropped the wrench, and made a swinging blow at the boy.
Frank dodged the blow and thrust out his foot in a manner that sent the awkward man sprawling.
“Land ob wartermillions!” squawked Toots, delighted.
As the hostler scrambled up, his fingers encountered the handle of the wrench and closed around it. His face was purple with anger, and there was a furious glare in his bloodshot eyes. The thick lips, purple and swollen, curled back from his tobacco-stained teeth, and with a snarl that might have issued from the throat of some wild beast, he flung the wrench at Frank’s head.
“Look out dar!”
Toots uttered the cry, but Merriwell was watching the man closely, and he dodged the missile, which went whizzing past with an unpleasant sound.
A man was just stepping in at the door, and the wrench struck him on the breast, knocking him down as if he had been shot.
Then Rattleton and Hodge came running up, and bent over the fallen man, who lay groaning on the ground.