“Indeed I didn’t!” cried the messenger. “They wouldn’t let me have it. There was a new man behind the bar.”
“That’s a likely story. Hold him tight, Gerhart; I’m going to paste him another.”
“You hound!” cried Phil, his voice shrill with rage, and an instant later he had fairly leaped beside the bully. With one hand he thrust Langridge aside, and then, with a straight left on the jaw, he sent him to the ground with a thud.
[CHAPTER XVI]
PHIL IS NERVOUS
Langridge struggled to his feet, anger rendering him almost speechless. He started toward Phil, who stood in the attitude of a trained boxer, awaiting the attack. The light from a new moon faintly illuminated the scene, and the figures stood out with considerable distinctness against the background of the dark building.
Wallops, the messenger, was shrinking away, anxious to escape unobserved, though he cast a look of gratitude at Phil. Tom was surprised at his chum’s sudden attack, but he stood ready to aid him, in case Gerhart should make an effort to take sides. As for Phil and Langridge, they faced each other, one eager with righteous anger to continue the chastisement, the other mad with the lust of shame and unreasoning.
“What—what did you do that for?” asked Langridge thickly, and his hand went to his jaw where Phil’s fist had landed. His head was singing yet from the powerful blow.