“Enough of that, Albion,” said he.
Clyde made a rush towards Burchmore, but the others interfered, and held him back. In vain he struggled in his wrath, but the stout coxswain and his companions threw him upon the ground, and held him there till his anger had in a measure subsided.
“Be off, Burchmore,” said Sanford. “We will take care of him.”
“I am not afraid of him,” replied the cashier.
“Of course you are not; but clear out, and let us have peace.”
“He is afraid of me!” roared Clyde.
“Nonsense, Great Britain! He would have mauled you to death if we hadn’t interfered. He can whip his weight in wildcats.”
Burchmore walked away, and soon disappeared beyond the houses. Clyde foamed in his wrath for a while, but finally consented to be pacified, promising, very faithfully, to whip the cashier the next time he caught him alone.
“Don’t you do it, Albion. You never will see your mother again if you attempt it. Wait a few days, and then, if you insist upon it, we will let Burchmore thrash you all you want,” replied Sanford, as they walked back to the station-house.
Clyde had a bad-looking eye, and perhaps believed that he had had a narrow escape; but he still maintained his credit as a bully. At the hotel, the question of the route for the next day came up. Burchmore insisted upon going to Christiania by the way of Kongsberg, and Sanford, who had consulted Ole again, assented. The waif had assured him that they could reach the Rjukanfos quicker and better by the road than by the lake.