"Look here, fellers," Skip said wildly, for he always contrived to work himself into a state of intense excitement over the most trifling matters, "the way he's goin' on now, he'll be the boss of Newspaper Row before mornin', 'less we take a hand in it."
"What are you goin' to do?" Sid asked in much too quiet a tone to suit his excited friend.
"Thump his head the very first time he tries to sell a paper, to start with, an' run him out er town before ter-morrer night."
"I don't see how you can tackle him now when he ain't doin' anything."
"Of course not; but he brags he's goin' to; an' the first time he tucks a bundle of papers under his arm, I'll give him one to remember!"
"Look out you don't git it the same's you did last week, over in Brooklyn!" Teenie Massey cried, in his shrillest tones, which hardly ever failed to excite Master Skip's anger.
"Don't you mind how I got it over in Brooklyn! I'll tend to my business; you tend to yours. If we waited for you to do anything, we'd all be bald-headed," was Skip's answer to this taunt; but Teenie was not at all abashed. It was his favourite amusement to arouse Skip's anger, and rely upon his diminutive stature to escape a whipping; for Master Jellison prided himself upon his ability to flog any fellow of his size in New York. "You fellers meet me in front of The Times office at noon, an' I'll show him up in great shape, 'less he comes to hisself before then, which I reckon he will, 'cause he'll never have the nerve to stand up ag'in' the whole crowd of us," said Skip.
Meanwhile the stranger was apparently giving no heed to the young tyrant who had decided it would be impossible for him to remain in the city; but continued on his way down-town, ignorant of, and, perhaps, careless regarding, the fact that he was to be debarred from earning a livelihood by selling newspapers, if Skip Jellison's power was as great as he would have others believe.