“Why, didn’t I—hic!—didn’t I beg your pardon?” said the young man, in surprise.
“Better beg it ag’in,” growled the bruiser.
“Oh, very well!” exclaimed Merry hastily. “I’ll do it!”
Husker fancied Frank was frightened.
Fillmore fancied Frank was drunk. He gave the pugilist a signal, and the latter grew more arrogant.
“Wot you need is a little t’umpin’,” he said. “I’d like ter put on der gloves wid youse an’ take some of der freshness outer yer.”
“Would you?”
“You bet!”
“I’d rather not. I’ve heard about you.”
“Oh, I didn’t suppose you’d have der nerve. It wouldn’t really hurt yer none, but it would do yer good. Der gloves are like cushions. A jab in der jaw is like a caress.”