I trust, that I haven't done you serious
harm."
"Quit yer sass!" ordered the other, who was a tall, broad-shouldered and
very surly looking fellow of thirty.
"I don't much blame you for being peevish," Reade went on. "Still, I
think there has been no serious harm done. Good night, friend."
"No, ye don't!" snarled the other. "Nothing of the slip-away-easy
style, like that!"
"Why, what do you want?" I asked Tom, opening his eyes in genuine
surprise.
"Ye thick-headed idiot!" rasped the surly stranger. "Ye--"
From that the stranger launched into a strain of abuse that staggered
the young engineer.
"Say no more," begged Reade generously. "I accept your apology, just as
you've phrased it."
"Apology, ye fool!" growled the stranger.
"That won't do. Put up your hands!"
"Why?"
"So ye can fight, ye--"
"Fight?" echoed Tom, with a shake of his bead. "On a hot night like
this? No, sir! I refuse."
Tom would have passed peaceably on his way, but the stranger suddenly
let go a terrific right-hander.
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