much business it is of mine," was Franklin's sharp reply. "Give me those shoes."
And without waiting he caught hold of the shoes and twisted them from Felter's grasp.
"Stop!" roared Felter. "Give those back, Softy, or we'll have a big row right here. I'm going to do as I please with them."
"Give it to him, Felter!" put in Bob Jackson, eagerly. "I'll stand by you!"
"So will I!" added Mike Nolan. "He wants taking down. Give him one in the nose!"
"I will if he don't give the shoes back," growled Felter, doubling up his big fists. Felter was over twenty years of age and a heavyweight. He glared down at Franklin as if fully confident of crushing the young electrician were it necessary.
"The shoes go to Harry," was all Franklin said, and running back he handed the pair to the lame boy, who at once proceeded to put them on.
"You soft-hearted dude!" cried Felter, in a rage, "I'll make it warm ioryou for spoiling our fun. How do you like that?"
That was a heavy blow delivered right from the shoulder and intended to land upon Franklin's face and take him off his feet. But the young electrician was on his guard and he ducked quickly, and Felter's fist only struck in a spent way upon Mike Nolan's chest, for the Irish boy had been on the point of attacking Franklin from the rear.
