All the blood in Peter’s body seemed to throb in his cheeks. Swiftly as a deer he leaped forward and, catching the upraised arm, he held it as if in a vise.
“Let me go! Let me go, or it will be the worse for you,” blustered Tolman, struggling vainly to wrench himself free from Peter’s grasp.
“I shall not let you go until you cool down a bit, Mr. Tolman,” replied Peter firmly.
“You had no right to meddle,” snapped Tolman.
“I had the same right that any man has to prevent the destruction of the company’s property,” was Peter’s retort.
“You let me go this minute, you young cub, or you’ll regret it,” yelled Tolman in a fury. “Who are you that you think you can come here and give orders to me and my men?”
Fearlessly Peter met his eye. Then he sent the man spinning into the crowd.
“Who am I, Mr. Tolman? Who am I? I’ll answer that question. I am Peter Coddington, and I have the right to protect my father’s property whenever I think it is necessary.”
An awed silence fell upon the group of men.