"Who on earth is Dan Jaggers?" demanded Benson, curiously.
"That's me! It's my name," rejoined the swagger. "An', sense ye're so fresh—"
Jaggers didn't finish in words, but, taking a firm hold on the back of the chair, he suddenly pulled it out from under Benson. So swiftly was the thing done that Jack went down on all fours on the porch. But, thoroughly aroused, and his eyes flashing indignantly now, that boy was quickly on his feet. Dan, however, with a satisfied grin, had dropped into the chair.
"Going to get up out of that, Jaggers?" challenged Jack Benson.
"Not as I know of," rejoined Dan, with a broader grin. "Why?"
"Because I'd hate to hit you while you're sitting down," replied Jack so quietly that his voice sounded almost mild.
"What's that?" demanded Jaggers, with a guffaw of laughter.
"You heard what I said," Jack insisted. "You'd better get up."
"Spoiling for a fight, are ye?" questioned the bully.
"Not at all," Jack replied, still keeping his temper in check. "I never go about looking for trouble. I suppose you didn't know any better than to do what you did."