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Morton and honest McGarver, the straw-boss, sprang to drag off Pete, while Satan, the panther, with the first interest they had ever seen in his eyes, snarled: "Let 'em fight fair. Rounds. You're a' right, Bill." "Right," commended Morton. Armored with Satan's praise, firm but fearful in his rubber sneakers, surprised and shocked to find himself here doing this, Bill Wrenn squared at the rowdy.
He grasped an iron stanchion and kicked the Grenadier in the jaw till the steer backed off, a reformed character. McGarver cheered, for such kicks were a rule of the game. "Good work," ironically remarked Tim, the weakling hatter. "You go to hell," snapped Wrennie, and Tim looked much more respectful.
You done just what I'd 'a' done if he'd cussed me. I told you Pete was a bluffer." "Git out," said Satan. Tim fled. Morton came up, looked at Bill Wrenn, pounded him on the shoulder, and went off to his mattress. The other stiffs slouched away, but McGarver and Satan were still discussing the fight.
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