“Is it?” groaned Dalton. Then, catching the trace of a smirk in Hank’s eyes, the rascal shook his fist at the steward of the “Restless,” snarling:
“I’ll find my own way to settle with you!”
“Take your time—when you’re feeling better,” Hank begged, cheerfully.
Fair-haired, soft-voiced young Dawley had followed the crowd out into the corridor. The hotel clerk, the proprietor and three or four of the servants all had increased the crowd there. Dawley rapidly learned what had happened.
“It’s a beastly outrage,” he announced, his soft voice sounding almost harsh in the indignation that he felt.
“Oh, take a fan, Dolly, and go out on the porch to cool off,” growled Joe Dawson.
One of the servants, in the excess of excitement, actually took the fair-haired youth by the shoulders, and, though the latter protested, thrust him out through the open door onto the porch, slamming the door after him.
“That’s too bad,” grinned Hank. “I’ll go out and see if the poor fellow has fainted.” 248
As Butts stepped out on the porch, closing the door shut after him, Dawley, his cheeks very red, leaped out from the chair into which he had sunk.
“It was you who played that mean trick on my friend,” cried Dawley, in a voice which he fondly believed trembled with rage.