Some one uttered the words, and there was a scattering as a dark-faced man was seen walking swiftly toward the group.
Old Slugs started to get up, but he fell back limply, as if all the strength had been beaten out of him.
The victor calmly took out a handkerchief and wiped the blood off his knuckles. He scarcely seemed to be breathing heavily after his recent exertions.
The foreman came up and looked the youth over.
“I don’t know how you did it,” he said; “but it was a pretty job, young man. I saw the whole thing from start to finish.”
“I am sorry it occurred, sir,” was the calm retort; “but if you saw it all you know I was not to blame.”
The foreman nodded.
“Hall attempted to bully you—I know. I’ll discharge him.”
“Not on my account, sir. It strikes me that he has received punishment enough. I am satisfied, and you may be sure I shall make no complaint.”
The foreman looked the defeated wiper over.