ain't makin' him car-sick," sneered Slakely, the conductor.
Haggerty strode up to the other, and shoved his fist savagely within an inch of Slakely's nose.
"I'll have you know, the super's all right, you wall-eyed coyote, you! I'm tellin' you he's a man. Do I hear any re-marks to the contrary?"
"Say," gasped Slakely blankly, retreating down the aisle, "what's the matter with you, anyway?"
"That's what's the matter!"—Haggerty's explanation was more forcible than explicit, though the meaning of his clenched fist which he shook at the other was pointed enough in its inference. "That's what's the matter, my bucko," he repeated fiercely, "an' don't you forget it! I'm givin' it to you straight, an' I'll take none of your lip about it neither! See?"
Haggerty had raised the standard. Not, perhaps, as the super had expected; but according to his own ideas, or rather to his fiery temper which led him to act blindly on the spur of the moment as his impulse directed.
But it was not this method of Haggerty's, if such a term could by any stretch of the imagination be applied to Haggerty, that was to bring about the desired result, and at the same time rid him of his tormentors—tormentors who continued to sound the cry, "Where's Haggerty?" with undiminished frequency—tormentors who were much too wary to allow themselves to be caught anywhere within striking distance, for Haggerty's forearm was a thing to wonder at. Instead, the end came from another source as totally different
