"Stop your villainous work!" he exclaimed, with honest indignation.
The robber looked up suddenly, but seeing only a boy, recovered his audacity.
"Mind your business, boy," he answered. "I know what I'm about."
"So do I," said Paul, resolutely, "and I order you to stop."
"You do, hey? I'll break your head, young man, and pay you well for your impudence."
Paul brought down his club on the man's arm with such force that he howled with pain.
He had the prostrate manufacturer's pocket-book in his hand as he spoke, and was about transferring it to his pocket, when Paul, perceiving that no time was to be lost, brought down his club on the man's arm with such force that he howled with pain and dropped the pocket-book, exclaiming:
"You've broken my arm, you young vagabond! I'll kill you for that!"
But he was in too great pain to set about it at once. He began to nurse his injured arm, casting the while black looks of hatred at the intrepid train boy.