"What's that! What's that! You dare to talk back to me.
I'll—"
"Wait a moment, Mr. Snowden. We might as well understand each other at the beginning."
The car manager's words seemed to stick in his throat. He gazed at the slender young fellow before him in amazement. Mr. Snowden was unused to having a man in his employ talk back to him, and for the moment it looked as though trouble were brewing in the stateroom of Car Number Three.
"Say it!" he exploded.
"I have very little to say, sir. But what I have to say will be to the point. I am well aware that discipline must be preserved here as well as back with the show. I shall always look up to you as my superior, and treat you in a gentlemanly and respectful manner. I shall hope that you, also, will treat me in a gentlemanly manner as long as I deserve it, at least."
"You—you threaten me, you young cub—you—"
"No; I do not threaten you. I am simply seeking to come to a friendly understanding with you."
"And—and if—if I decide to treat you as I do the rest of my men—what then?" sneered the manager.
"That depends. I can answer that question when I see how you do treat them. From what I have seen, I should imagine they do not lead a very happy existence," continued the Circus Boy with a pleasant smile.
"If I keep you on this car I'll use you as I please, and the quicker you understand that the better. Now, what do you propose to do?"