Blake's own imagination had already presented that aspect of the matter all too vividly.
"Yes, there may be danger," he confessed. "We may have to take the boy by force." His nerves began to dance and quiver, as always before every new adventure.
"Perhaps, after all, you'd better not go. I—understand how you feel."
The little man burst out in a forceful expletive.
"Pudding! I want to fight. D-don't you see?"
"No. I don't."
"I've never been in a row. I've never done anything brave or desperate, like—like you. I'm aching for trouble. I go looking for it every night."
"Really!" Blake looked his incredulity.
"Sure thing! Last night I insulted a perfectly nice gentleman just to provoke a quarrel. I'd never seen him before, and ordinarily I hesitate to accost strangers; but I felt as if I'd have hysterics if I couldn't lick somebody; so I walked up to this person and told him his necktie was in rotten taste."
"What did he say?"