“Maybe, but Orkney’s a tough customer.”
The Shark turned, and deliberately inspected Sam from head to foot. “You could do him up,” he said with cold-blooded calmness.
“Perhaps. That isn’t saying Step could, though. He hasn’t weight enough.”
At this instant Orkney, catching sight of Sam in the background, changed his tactics. He moved away from Step, and lowered his hands.
“So that’s the game, is it?” he taunted. “Keep blustering, but be sure not to hit a fellow till your gang’s here to back you—that’s your way, Step Jones. Had to wait for Sam Parker, didn’t you?”
Step’s anger was that of the patient man, slow to kindle but hard to extinguish. He struck at his opponent, but long as his arm was, missed him by inches.
Sam instinctively started forward, and forced a way through the ring. Tom fell back a pace.
“That’s right! Pile on—the whole gang of you!” he shouted.
Step, for his part, was more than ready to accept the challenge; but Sam intervened. Impulse—he was willing enough to fight Orkney—had yielded to sobering second thought. It behooved a young man, intent upon establishing his self-control and common sense, to avoid brawling over a trifle on the public street. Sam’s hand caught Step’s collar.
“Here! Drop the fighting!” he commanded.