"Yes, yes! I've had all I want. This joke has gone far enough."
"Joke?"
"Yes."
"You have a queer idea of jokes," smiled Phil, releasing his man and stepping back, but keeping a wary eye on the car manager, as the latter settled back into a chair, rubbing his wrists. They still pained him severely.
"I am sorry if I hurt you, Mr. Snowden. But I had to defend myself in some way. I could have been much more violent, but I did not wish to be unnecessarily so."
"You were rough enough. I've got no use for a fellow who can't take a joke without getting all riled up over it. Get out of here!"
"What are you doing at this end of the car?" snarled the manager to Henry, the English porter, who had been peering into the office, wide-eyed. He had been a witness to the disturbance, but at the manager's command he hastily withdrew to his own end of the car.
"Shall we shake hands and be friends now, Mr. Snowden?" asked Phil.
"Shake hands?"
"Yes, of course."