"Let up on that!" he cried, catching Sercomb and jerking him away just as he was about to strike Ferral with his clenched fist. "There's no need of pounding Dick."
"I'll pound you if you give me any of your lip!" answered Sercomb.
"The latch-string's out," answered Matt grimly. "Walk in."
At that moment Carl rolled out of the door.
"Vat's der rooction?" he tuned up, his eyes dancing over the squabble.
Carl was always as ready to fight as he was to eat, which is saying a good deal.
"Help me get Ferral away from that fellow, Carl," called Matt.
"On der chump!"
Carl landed right in the midst of the struggle, and in about half a minute he and Matt had separated Ferral from his antagonist. With a neat crack, straight from the shoulder, Matt disarmed a fellow who had jerked a wrench out of the automobile. This put the last finishing touch to the clash, and both sides drew apart, bunching together, and each panting and glaring at the other.
"Dere iss only vone t'ing vat I can do on a embty shtomach, und dot's fighdt," wheezed Carl, slapping his arms. "It don'd vas ofer so kevick? I got a pooty leedle kitney-punch vat I vould like to hant aroundt, only I don'd haf der dime."