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Page 17
"What can I do for you, Mr. Wacker?" inquired Bart calmly, though
scenting trouble in the air.
"You can undo!" flared out Wacker, "and you'll get quick action on it,
or I'll clean you out, bag and baggage."
"There isn't much baggage here to clean out," suggested Bart humorously,
"and as for the rest of it I'll try to take care of it myself."
"Oh! you will, will you?" sneered Lem, lurching to and fro. "You're a
sneak. Bart Stirling--a low, contemptible sneak, that's what you are!"
"I would like to have you explain," remarked Bart.
"You've queered me!" roared Wacker, "and I'm going to have
satisfaction--yes, sir. Sat-is-fac-tion!"
He pounded out the syllables under Bart's very nose with resounding
thumps, bringing down his fist on the impromptu office desk so forcibly
that the concussion disturbed the papers on it, and several sheets fell
fluttering to the floor.
Bart's patience was tried. His eyes flashed, but he stooped and picked
up the pages and replaced them on the dry goods box.
"Don't you do that again," he warned in a strained tone.
"Why!" yelled Wacker, rolling up his cuffs.
"I'll trim you next! 'Don't-do-it-again!' eh? Boo! bah!"
Lem raised his foot and kicked over the desk, papers and all.
"That's express company property," observed Bart quietly, but his blood
was up, the limit reached. "Get out!"
One arm shot forward, and the clenched muscular fist rested directly
under the chin of the astounded Lem Wacker.
"And stay out."
Lem Wacker felt a smart whack, went whirling back over the threshold,
and the next instant measured his length, sprawling on the ground
outside of the express shed.
CHAPTER VII
WAITING FOR TROUBLE
Lem Wacker rolled over, then sat up, rubbed his head in a half-dazed
manner, and muttered in a silly, sheepish way.
"Lem Wacker," said Bart, "I have got just a few words to say to you, and
that ends matters between us. I am sorry I had to strike you, but I will
have no man interfering with the express company's affairs. I want you
to go away, and if you ever come in here again except on business
strictly there will be trouble."
Lem did not put up much of a belligerent front, though he tried still to
look ugly and dangerous.
He got his balance at last, and extended his finger at our hero.
"Bart Stirling," he maundered, "you've made an enemy for life. Look out
for me! You're a marked man after this."
"What am I marked with," inquired Bart quickly--"burnt cork?"
"Hey! What?" blurted out Lem, and Bart saw that the shot had struck the
target. Wacker looked sickly, and muttered something to himself. Then he
took himself off.
Bart's worries were pleasantly broken in upon by the arrival of his
sister Bertha. She brought him a generous lunch, the first food Bart had
tasted that day, and his appetite welcomed it in a wholesome way.
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