“I ain’t taking a discharge jist now, Gus Wilson,” he said, defiantly. “Maybe you don’t know who you’re talkin’ to, or you’d haul in your horns several feet. If you go playin’ that dodge on me, if I don’t put a ring in your nose that’ll lead you around like a calf, then sell me out.”
Will walked swaggeringly away, with a glance over his shoulder at his opponent, that seemed to have more effect on that individual than his words.
He stood looking after the boy with a perplexed air, the red gradually dying out of his visage, and a slight pallor taking its place.
Breaking from his momentary reverie, he walked hastily back to the office, paying no further attention to Will, who stood some distance back, coolly regarding him.
“That shot struck between wind and water,” said the boy, with a grimace.
As he was passing the office on his way back into the store, the door of Mr. Leonard’s room opened, and his name was called.
“Wonder if Gus has been at work a’ready?” he said to himself.
But the chief clerk was busily engaged at his own desk as Will went through the counting-room, and Mr. Leonard simply wished to send him on an errand to the post-office.
“Counted them Milton cloths last night and this morning,” said Will. “Ain’t reported yet.”
“How many pieces did you make them?”