His tone was coarse and
bullying to a degree.
"We are not occupying these chairs to your inconvenience," declared
Roy stoutly, "there are lots of others."
He indicated several rockers placed at intervals along the hotel porch,
and all empty.
"That chair you're sitting in is mine," snapped the man, in response.
"Got a mortgage on it, eh?" smiled Jimsy amiably.
"I'll show you kids how much of a mortgage I've got on it," was the
reply.
It was just then that a lad of about Roy's own age, but with a surly,
hang-dog sort of look, emerged from the smoking-room of the hotel.
"What's up, father?" he demanded, addressing the red-faced man.
"Why, Dan, the kids have appropriated my chair."
"Oh, those flying kids. Well, they'll see that they ain't everything
around here," responded the lad; "I reckon Jim Cassell has some say
here, eh, dad?"
"I reckon so, son," grinned the red-faced man, in response to this
elegant speech; "now, then, are you going to give up that chair or not?"
"I was just leaving it when you came out," rejoined Roy, who, by this
time, was fairly boiling over.
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