There followed a silence: until finally one of the young men took a step forward. “What's this?” he demanded, as one who had a right to demand.
Hal advanced towards the speaker, a slender youth, correct in appearance, but not distinguished looking. “Hello, Percy!” said Hal.
A look of amazement came upon the other's face. He stared, but seemed unable to believe what he saw. And then suddenly came a cry from one of the young ladies; the one having hair the colour of molasses taffy when you've pulled it—but all fluffy and wonderful, with stardust in it. Her cheeks were pink and cream, and her brown eyes gazed, wide open, full of wonder. She wore a dinner gown of soft olive green, with a cream white scarf of some filmy material thrown about her bare shoulders.
She had started to her feet. “It's Hal!” she cried.
“Hal Warner!” echoed young Harrigan. “Why, what in the world—?”
He was interrupted by a clamour outside. “Wait a moment,” said Hal, quietly. “I think some one else is coming in.”
The door was pushed violently open. It was pushed so violently that Billy Keating and the conductor were thrust to one side; and Jeff Cotton appeared in the entrance.
The camp-marshal was breathless, his face full of the passion of the hunt. In his right hand he carried a revolver. He glared about him, and saw the two men he was chasing; also he saw the Coal King's son, and the rest of the astonished company. He stood, stricken dumb.
The door was pushed again, forcing him aside, and two more men crowded in, both of them carrying revolvers in their hands. The foremost was Pete Hanun, and he also stood staring. The “breaker of teeth” had two teeth of his own missing, and when his prize-fighter's jaw dropped down, the deficiency became conspicuous. It was probably his first entrance into society, and he was like an overgrown boy caught in the jam-closet.
Percy Harrigan's manner became distinctly imperious. “What does this mean?” he demanded.