“Here, fellow, don’t you hit him again!”
“Who says so?” demanded “Pug” Kennedy, as he called himself. “If you’re looking for trouble come down and get yours!” and he stepped out into the aisle and struck a characteristic pugilistic attitude.
“I’m not looking for trouble,” said Jerry calmly; “but I like fair play, and I’m going to see that my friend gets it.”
“Oh, you’re going to butt in, are you?” sneered the other.
“No, I’m not in the habit of doing that,” said Jerry. “But what did you strike Bob for?”
“None of your business.”
“Oh, yes, it is our business, too,” said Ned, walking up beside Jerry. Bob’s nose had begun to bleed and he was holding his handkerchief to it. He seemed dazed, and acted as though he did not know how to account for what had occurred.
“What happened, Bob?” asked Jerry, as Ned walked up to the heavily-built lad.
“Why, I was looking for my bag of crullers, and I saw them in his pocket and——”
“You did not!” burst out Pug Kennedy. “That’s my own grub that I bought in the station, and if you want to fight for it——”