“How dare you touch that bell! I’ll teach you, young man, that we have no practical jokes here.”
“It isn’t a joke,” Peter said. “I tried to find you and tell you that a storm was coming. When I couldn’t, I gave the signal myself.”
“Who’s running this factory, Strong—you or I? Tell me that.”
“You wouldn’t want the stock ruined, Mr. Tolman.”
“That’s my affair. Storm! There isn’t going to be any storm! You’re a meddlesome young scoundrel! Just because you have had some notice taken of you over at the other works you think you can come in here and run the whole place. Well, I’ll show you that you can’t manage my business.”
Fuming with anger Tolman sprang forward, his arm upraised.
“Don’t you touch that boy, Tolman!” cried a voice from the crowd.
It was McCarthy.
But the man was too enraged to heed the warning.
With a quick thrust he struck out toward the lad.