The big man had not another word to waste. Evidently he was a man of action, and all he wanted was the summons from the conductor that gave him a legal right to participate. He pulled off his black coat and threw it upon the seat, laid his hat on top of it, pulled up his sleeves, and “sailed into” the crowd of fighters with the energy of a battering-ram. It was a giant among pygmies. With every blow of the powerful fists one or two of the fighters went down. The Ohioans were so surprised at the single-handed onslaught that they hardly struck back. Down they went, one after another and in bunches, and the thud, thud of the sturdy blows came harder and faster. When the big man reached the door at Dick’s end of the car there was hardly a fighter left on his feet. The big man had quelled the riot and made a score of sore heads, but he did not stop there. He gathered up the fellows who were nearest the door, two and three at a time, and threw them bodily out of the car. At this there was a wild rush for the opposite end by all who were able to walk, and in no time all the fighters were out. The conductor pulled the rope and the train started, leaving the rioters quarreling and fighting by the side of the track. The big man walked quietly back to his seat and put on his coat and hat. “Well, that was the most beautiful piece of pugilism and pluck I ever saw in my life,” Dick said to himself. “To think of one unarmed man pitching into this whole crowd, where nearly every man had a knife in his hand, and thrashing the whole lot of them in a minute, just with his fists. Why, it was superb. He looks like an uncommon man, too; I must find out who he is.” Dick went back to the seat adjoining the big man’s and spoke to him. “You did that beautifully, sir,” he said. “I am a newspaper man, and if you have no objections I should be glad to know your name.” The big man turned around with a pleasant smile on his face, and without showing the least sign of the recent conflict. “Certainly, young man,” he said; “you are welcome to know my name, if you desire it. My name is Cook--Joseph Cook.” “What!” Dick exclaimed before he could stop himself, “not the Rev. Joseph Cook, the celebrated clergyman and lecturer?” “If you leave that word ‘celebrated’ out,” Mr. Cook replied, “I will own up to all the rest. Yes; I am the Rev. Joseph Cook, clergyman, lecturer. “You see,” he went on, turning further around so that he faced Dick, “I am billed to lecture in Columbus at eight o’clock this evening. That was why I didn’t want the train delayed by that crowd of drunken ruffians. The conductor and his trainmen could have stopped the riot very readily if they had had any courage. But the quickest way was just to stop it myself, though I am afraid we are going to be late now, for we are more than an hour behind time.”