"Cheek!" exclaimed Bob. "Don't say a word about cheek! Your cheek drove your typewriter out of your office. I got a place for her, and you had the cheek to go to her new place and raise a row. That is what you kicked me for. Two members of the Exchange told me to prosecute you and call them as witnesses–Mr. Turner and Mr. Agnew."
Bryant turned white as a sheet. Those two brokers were his bitterest enemies. They stood high, and their evidence would down him.
"See here, my boy," he said, "I ought to kick you clean through that window for your impudence, but I won't. I tell you—"
"Of course, you won't," said Bob, interrupting him. "It's my time to kick now."
Bryant was cool, pale, and yet in a rage. He saw that he was in a serious scrape, and Bob, though a boy, was game all through.
"Are you willing for Mr. Manson to settle the matter?" he asked.
"No, sir. He is not my lawyer."
Bryant gave a start.
"Who is pour lawyer?" he asked.
"I haven't engaged one yet, but you can bet I am going to."