“Fight?” echoed Tom, with a shake of his bead. “On a hot night like this? No, sir! I refuse.”
Tom would have passed peaceably on his way, but the stranger suddenly let go a terrific right-hander. Had Tom Reade received the blow he would have gone to the ground. But the young engineer's athletic training stood by him. He slid out, easily and gracefully, but was compelled to wheel and face his assailant.
“Don't,” urged Tom. “It's too hot.”
“I'm hot myself,” leered the stranger, dancing nearer.
“You look it,” Tom admitted. “If you don't stop dancing, you'll soon be hotter. It makes me warm to look at you.”
“Stop this one, ye tin-horn!” snarled the stranger.
“Certainly,” agreed Tom, blocking the blow. “However, I wish you wouldn't be so strenuous. One of us may get hurt.”
This last escaped Reade as he blocked the blow, and again displayed a neat little bit of footwork.
“Let's see you stop this one!” taunted the bully.
“Certainly,” agreed Tom, and did so.