“Speak of the devil,” hissed Frost, “and you’ll see the print of his hoof! There’s Cassidy now.”
“Where?” anxiously asked the other two.
Frost pointed out a chap with bright red hair.
“Yes, that’s him,” nodded Manton; “and he’s spotted us. I’m sorry, for he’ll come around.”
He was right. “Pink” Cassidy, a sullen, stocky young thug, had seen them, and it was not long before he came forcing his way up over the bleachers and reached them.
“Set over, you!” he growled at a man who was beside Manton. “I wanter set wid me frien’s.”
“Go on!” retorted the man. “There’s no room here, Mr. Buttinsky.”
“Den I’ll make some room,” said Pink, as he grasped the man by the collar and gave him a jerk that flung him over the line of spectators below and onto the heads of the next row. “Allus move when a gent asks ye to.”
Saying which, he calmly took the seat thus made vacant.
This action caused considerable commotion and enraged both the fellow who had been thus handled and those upon which he had landed; but Cassidy minded it not in the least, laughing and retorting to their angry words.