"You put yourself in a bad light by calling a man a sneak and then refusing to tell why you call him that," said Frank.
Yates did not know Merriwell very well and that laugh had not sounded a warning to him. Instead, it
really seemed that Frank was frightened, and he had laughed to conceal the fact.
"It is my conviction," he cried, "that you are not only a sneak, but you are also a coward! If that is not enough, I will make it still more forcible."
Quick as a flash, he struck Frank in the face with his clinched fist.
A gasp came from those who witnessed this act. There was no time given for further words.
Like a leaping panther, Frank Merriwell shot up and alighted on Duncan Yates. He clutched Yates in his strong grasp, snapped him off his feet, swung him into the air.
The spectators had fallen back in a wild sort of scramble to get out of the way. Thus enough room was made for Merriwell to act.
It was a warm day, and the car door was open. Almost before any one could tell what Frank thought of doing, he leaped out through the doorway, and, with the lad who had delivered the blow still poised above his head, seemed on the verge of hurling Yates from the flying train!
"Stop, Frank!"