"Ho! ho! I reckon not, an' ye'll wish ye never had, afore I git through with yer!" Bully Jake declared. "Behold in me, my furin rooster, Jake Jogagog, commonly known as Bully Jake, the Terror o' ther Coast. I'm a cyclone, I am. Then, I'm prime minister ter his honor, Granby Greyville, an' from him I hev orders to demolish every furin craft wot sots anchor in his domains. Therefore, ef ye wanter escape teetotal annihilation, I'd advise ye ter _git_! Ef ye ain't seen goin' in less'n two seconds, I'll stamp ye out o' existence." "Vel, when I gits ready to go, den I vil go, und not pefore!" Fritz retorted. "Uff you makes me any droubles, I plack your eye for you!" "Oh! ye wull, hey? Oh! snortin' walrusses an' white-haired whales!" roared the bully, and sprung savagely upon the young detective, as if bent on his certain destruction, Fritz clinched with him. It was to be a struggle of brute strength now. CHAPTER VII. THE STRUGGLE. Both were strong, active men, Fritz in particular being well supplied with all the necessary muscle and agility of the prize-fighter, although he by no means looked as if he was an "ugly customer" to handle. After clinching the two men soon tripped and fell to the floor, where the struggle literally began in all its meaning. "Oh! I'll show ye how ther howlin' porpoise fights!" Bully Jake roared, endeavoring to get a bite at Fritz's nose. "I'll chaw ye all up like a dish o' hash!" "Vil, you, dough!" Fritz cried, finally getting his hands free, and clinching them around the bully's throat tightly. "I'll pet yoost a half-dollar you von't do noddings off der kind," and now getting the ruffian under him he gradually shut off his wind. "Hold on! hold on! no chokin'!--no chokin', I say; it's ag'in' ther moral rules o' fightin'!" "I don'd vas see id dot vay," Fritz said. "Eider you vas got to ax my parding for assaulting me, or I vil choke off your breathe so you vil haff none to use." "No choke, I say! Let me up, an' I'll fight ye accordin' ter book." "Not a let oop!" was the young detective's reply. "Ven you come foolin' around mit der Dutchman you pet your life you get left. Apologize, I dells you, or I turns de throttle, und shuts der sdeam off your logermotiff. I mean pizness--no 'pology, no breathe. Vas you understand?" The man began to wince as Fritz closed his terrible gripe. "Oh, let me up, an' we'll call et squar'," the man gurgled. "Ven you dells me 'I ax your humble parding'--den I let you up!" "But I won't!" "Den I vil squeeze your windpipe, so!" "I ask your pardon. Oh! yes, I do. Thar, now, let me up!" Fritz obeyed, and let the ruffian rise from the floor, but just as soon as he was on his feet Bully Jake drew a long knife. "Oho! I didn't say what I'd do next!" he howled, brandishing the blade, threateningly. "I'll cut your cussed heart out now."