Get out of here before I throw you out."
"See here, you, I won't be talked to like that. I'll wring your
neck for you, some fine day, first thing you know!" bellowed
Teddy, now thoroughly aroused.
The manager grabbed the lad by the shoulders and shot him through
the screen doors before Teddy had an opportunity to object.
Teddy, red-faced and boiling with rage, was about to project
himself into the stateroom again when Phil motioned him to
go away. Teddy did so reluctantly.
"Where do we sleep, Mr. Snowden?" inquired Phil, hoping to get
the car manager in a more gentle frame of mind by changing
the subject.
"Sleep on the roof, sleep in the cellar! I don't care where
you sleep! You get out of here, too, unless you want me to
throw you out!"
"I think you had better not do that, sir." Phil's voice was cool
and pleasant.
"What's that! What's that! You dare to talk back to me.
I'll--"
"Wait a moment, Mr. Snowden. We might as well understand each
other at the beginning."
The car manager's words seemed to stick in his throat. He gazed
at the slender young fellow before him in amazement. Mr. Snowden
was unused to having a man in his employ talk back to him, and
for the moment it looked as though trouble were brewing in the
stateroom of Car Number Three.
"Say it!" he exploded.
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