They were shaking hands with him, slapping his back and laughing
with him, although he did not know that he laughed.
Above the hum of eager voices rose one that was discordant, hoarse
with passion.
"Clear out! Skip, I say! All of you!"
Thomas Braddock was shoving the glad performers about as if they were
tenpins, raging like the lions which roared their surprise at this
unseemly hubbub in front of the cages.
From sheer excitement, David's head was reeling; his senses began to
slip away; his legs were tottering.
Suddenly the crowd fell away. One man was facing him. The unconscious
smile was still on the boy's lips as he looked into the convulsed face
of Braddock. The power to dodge the blow aimed at his face had gone
with his wits. He only knew that Christine's father was striking; he
could only wait, with hazy indifference, for the blow to land.
"I won't have any disobedience here," roared the frantic manager, as
he struck out in his bestial rage.
"I guess that'll stop it."
David was lying at his feet, stunned by the savage blow.
"When I say a thing I mean it," shouted Braddock, turning to the
stupefied crowd.
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