Jones, of the Standard, sat down and gaped at the long, lank figure on the stool. A moment he went limp and terrified; then he rallied his courage.
"Do you unwind all at once?" he asked, as Jap disentangled his legs from the stool. "I take back what I said about a pup. You're a full-grown dog, all right. I wasn't looking for a brick-top, either. No wonder you have a weakness for vermilion."
"Better come outside of town," Jap interrupted. "I've been intending to go over to Barton to have a look at you, but it's better thus. I have been stealing space from my readers long enough. They pay for more important things than my private opinion of you. I made up my mind to stop the argument by giving you a hell of a licking, and I've only waited because I didn't care to risk my reputation in a neighboring town. Here it will be different. In the midst of my friends, I hope to fix you so that you'll never try to throw filth on any one again."
Jones arose hastily.
"I want no row," he said uneasily. "I just want an understanding."
"You have the right idea," cried Jap. "You are going to get lots of understanding before you leave Bloomtown."
At that moment the town marshal strolled in, wearing his star pinned on his blue flannel shirt.
"I demand protection," Jones shouted. "This man has threatened me."
"What's the row, Jap?" asked the monitor of peace tolerantly.
"This is Mr. Wilfred Jones, of the Barton Standard," was all that Jap said. But the effect was electrical. The man of peace was transformed into an engine of vengeance.