"Mr. Sparling will not tolerate anything of this sort, I am sure," added Phil.
By this time, the manager was once more on his feet. His rage was past all control. With a roar of rage Snowden grabbed up a rung of the broken chair and charged his slender young antagonist.
A faint flush leaped into the face of Phil Forrest. His eyes narrowed a little, but in no other way did he show that his temper was in the least ruffled.
The chair rung was brought down with a vicious sweep, but to Snowden's surprise the weapon failed to reach the head of the smiling Circus Boy.
Then Phil got into action.
Like a flash he leaped forward, and the car manager found his wrists clasped in a vise-like grip.
"Let go of me!" he roared, struggling with all his might to free himself, failing in which he began to kick.
Phil gave the wrists a skillful twist, which brought another howl from Snowden, this time a howl of pain.
"I am not looking for trouble, sir. Will you listen to reason?" urged the lad.
"I'll—I'll—"