"We want to fix matters up with you."
"You can do that after you are in jail."
"You'll gain nothing by having us arrested."
"That remains to be seen."
"We have got the upper hand in those deals with your father and if you have us locked up we won't let go—no matter what happens," put in Japson.
"We'll make you let go," returned Tom, with determination. "You fellows have reached the end of your string, and the sooner you realize it the better it will be for you."
"Bah! Do you think we'll give up the things we have fought so hard to get? Not much!"
While Japson was speaking Pelter had stepped back into the garret. Now he came again to the window, at the same time whispering to his companion.
"Hello, Dixon!" he called, as if to somebody behind Tom.
As was but natural, the youth below turned quickly, thinking some friend of the broker's had appeared. The moment Tom turned, Pelter hurled something down at him. It was an old wooden footstool, and it struck the youth squarely on the head. Down went poor Tom in the grass, senseless.