One instant amazement held sway on the Thread Man's face; the
next, "And damned if I like yours!" he cried, and catching up a
bowl half filled with broth he flung it squarely into Jimmy's
face.
Jimmy, with a great oath, sprang at the Boston man. But once in
his life Dannie was quick. For the only time on record he was
ahead of Jimmy, and he caught the uplifted fist in a grip that
Jimmy's use of whiskey and suffering from rheumatism had made his
master.
"Steady--Jimmy, wait a minute," panted Dannie. "This mon is na
even wi' ye yet. When every muscle in your body is strained, and
every inch of it bruised, and ye are daubed wi' soot, and
bedraggled in oil, and he's made ye the laughin' stock fra
strangers by the hour, ye will be juist even, and ready to talk
to him. Every minute of the nicht he's proved himself a mon, and
right now he's showed he's na coward. It's up to ye, Jimmy. Do it
royal. Be as much of a mon as he is. Say ye are sorry!"
One tense instant the two friends faced each other.
Then Jimmy's fist unclenched, and his arms dropped. Dannie
stepped back, trying to breathe lightly, and it was between Jimmy
and the Thread Man.
"I am sorry," said Jimmy. "I carried my objictions to your
wardrobe too far. If you'll let me, I'll clean you up.
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