“We are citizens of this township,” he said, “and we have a right in this meeting.”
“Go wan!” was the answer. “We won’t have any foreigners here.”
“We are as much Americans as you are!” responded Eric, hotly.
“Be cool,” cautioned the shoemaker, in his native tongue.
“I tell you, Jim O’Rourke,” continued Eric, more steadily, “there’s no need of our quarrelling this way, and if you’d let us explain we’d show you why we should all be friends—”
“Friends! Let me give you a friendly hint. You get out of here double-quick.”
By nature the Scandinavian is peaceable. He hates fighting as much as he loves his home; and yet, for being slow to wrath, he is the more terrible when roused. Eric took one step forward and drove up O’Rourke’s arm with a stinging blow that sent him spinning into the room. Then he and his father entered. O’Rourke, recovering himself, rushed upon Eric and dealt him a terrific blow in the breast. The two men were just closing in a desperate encounter when Caxton, the chairman, rose, ordering silence and preparing to enforce his decree with a stout oak stake.
“What’s the trouble here?” he demanded, when quiet had been restored.
“We are citizens of this township,” said Eric, panting, “and we have a right to attend this meeting. This man tried to shut us out.”