"It wouldn't interest me," he said with some finality. "I'm--just a poor lad, you know, and I haven't a cent to invest in anything." "But you have an hour to invest, perhaps?" Anthony smiled. "Nope!" "Oh, yes, you have," the owner of Fry's Imperial Liniment persisted. "It is for no purpose of my own, save perhaps to justify a small contention, but I wish you to come home with me for a little while." "WHAT?" said the boy. As Johnson Boller observed, sighing heavily and shaking his head as he observed it, the young man was downright scared now. An older citizen would have spoken his candid thoughts to Anthony Fry, doubtless, and chilled him back to reason; but this one drew away from Anthony until he bumped into Johnson Boller, turned hastily and asked the latter's pardon and then gazed at Anthony with eyes which, if not filled with terror, certainly held a quantity of somewhat amused apprehension. He shook his head determinedly and seemed to be seeking words, and as he sought them a new element entered the situation. The red-faced person just behind Anthony Fry, having gazed suddenly from the youngster to the maker of theories, lurched forward suddenly and spoke: "Let that kid alone!" "Eh?" Anthony said amazedly. Johnson Boller leaned forward quickly. "Stop right there, Anthony!" he hissed. "Don't answer him!" "Why on earth shouldn't I answer him?" Anthony snapped. "You keep out of it, young feller!" the red-faced one told Johnson Boller, and one saw that his honest rage was rising fast. "He's gotter let that kid alone!" "Well, confound your impudence, sir!" Anthony began. "I----" "None o' that stuff!" the total stranger said hotly. "You cut out picking on the kid or I'll step on your face." And here his redder-faced companion leaned forward and demanded thickly: "Woddy do ter kid, Joe? Huh? Wozzer matter--huh? Wozzer trouble 'th you--huh?" Johnson Boller was on his feet and in the aisle, perturbed and still able to see how the unexpected had been planned for his especial benefit. "This is where we get off, Anthony," he said briefly, "I could smell it coming. Come along." "Is there going to be a fight here?" the boy in the chair between asked, with a quantity of eager excitement. "If I know the signs, ten seconds hence this spot is going to look like a detail of the Battle of the Marne," said Mr. Boller. "And you want to get out of it quick or you'll be hurt, kid. You scoot right down that way, the way you came, and get clear of the crowd before it starts." He pointed. He waited. But the boy did not start. Who, in the calmer afterward, shall explain just how these gunpowder situations develop, grow instantaneously incandescent, and explode?