“Jack Sagger was awfully angry at being discharged,” said the cashier.
“It was his own fault. I cannot afford to have a boy around who is impudent.”
What the cashier said about the discharged lad was true. Jack Sagger was “mad clear through,” and he attributed his discharge solely to Joe.
“I'll fix dat pill,” he said to one of his chums. “He ain't going to do me out of my job an' not suffer fer it.”
“What are you going to do, Jack?” asked the companion.
“I'll mash him, dat's wot I'll do,” answered Jack Sagger.
He was a big, rawboned lad, several inches taller than Joe. His face was freckled, and his lips discolored by cigarette smoking. He was a thoroughly tough boy and it was a wonder that he had ever been allowed to work in the hotel at all. He had a fairly good home, but only went there to sleep and to get his meals.
“Joe, I hear that Jack Sagger is going to make it warm for you,” said Frank, one Monday afternoon.
“I suppose he is angry because I got his position, is that it?”
“Yes.”