He felt like one playing a game. "If Frank meant to bully me into
submission this man also means something."
On the sidewalk before the saloon McGregor stopped. "Look here," he
said, turning and facing the superintendent, "I'm after Frank's place.
I'm going to learn the business as fast as I can. I won't put it up to
you to fire him. When I get ready for the place he won't be there."
A light flashed into the eyes of the little man. He held the cigar
McGregor had paid for as though about to throw it into the street.
"How far do you think you can go with your big fists?" he asked, his
voice rising.
McGregor smiled. He thought he had earned another victory and lighting
his cigar held the burning match before the little man. "Brains are
intended to help fists," he said, "I've got both."
The superintendent looked at the burning match and at the cigar
between his fingers. "If I don't which will you use on me?" he asked.
McGregor threw the match into the street. "Aw! don't bother asking,"
he said, holding out another match.
McGregor and the superintendent walked along the street. "I would like
to fire you but I won't. Some day you'll run that warehouse like a
clock," said the superintendent.
McGregor sat in the street-car and thought of his day.
Pages:
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74