But no sooner were Sam’s hands released than he aimed a savage blow at young Nevins.
“I’ll trim you for this, you—you scarecrow, you!” he bawled out. “I’ll fix you. I’ll——”
“Here, here! What’s all the trouble about?”
The question was asked by a tall, well-built youth with curly dark hair and sparkling, intelligent eyes, who had just appeared at the door of the workshop.
“I—I wanted to find Mr. Chadwick, Jr.,” began the newcomer, while Sam looked abashed.
“Sure you weren’t looking for trouble?” asked Jack, but a twinkle in his eyes belied the implied reproach in the question. He knew Sam Hinkley from the soles of his shoes up. Besides, he had witnessed the last part of the recent scene and realized how the land lay.
“Go back on your job,” he ordered Sam brusquely, “those bolts must be ready by noon at the latest.”
“Bu-bu-but——” began Sam, and then, reading what he saw in Jack’s eye aright, he obeyed, but not without a backward glance at Ned Nevins.
“Why—why, you are Jack—I mean Mister——”
“That’s all right,” was the smiling response, “I am Jack Chadwick. What did you wish to see me about?”