Where's the fire ?" he hailed.
"In my eyes! See it ?" demanded Dave Darrin.

His dark eyes certainly were flashing as he reached out and seized Tip by one shoulder.
"Now don't ye git festive with _me_!" warned Tip.
"Oh, we don't feel ready for anything more festive than a lynching party," muttered Dave, hotly.

"See here, you-----" "I s'pose ye think ye can do all ye wanter to me, jest because I've been doin' my stretch ?" demanded Tip, aggressively.

"But don't be too sure.

Take yer hand offen my shoulder!" Dave didn't show any sign of immediate intention of complying.
"_Take it off_!" insisted Tip.
But Dave met the fellow's baleful gaze with a cool, steady look.
Tip, muttering something, edged away from under Dave's extended hand.
"Now, ye wanter understand," continued young Scammon, "that I can't be played with, jest because some folks think I'm down.
If you come fooling around me you'll have to explain or apologize." "Tip," questioned Dave Darrin, sharply, "why did you just throw two brickbats at Dick Prescott's head ?" "I didn't," retorted Tip, stolidly.
"You _did_." "I didn't." "Tip," declared Dave, solemnly, "I won't call you a liar.