Billy scratched his head, on his face exaggerated puzzlement.

"No, I don't get you," he said. "Now just what was it you said?"

But the big blacksmith turned contemptuously away from him to
Saxon.

"Come here, you. Let's see your program."

"Do you want to dance with him?" Billy asked.

She shook her head.

"Sorry, sport, nothin' doin'," Billy said, again making to start
on.

For the third time the blacksmith blocked the way.

"Get off your foot," said Billy. "You're standin' on it."

Long all but sprang upon him, his hands clenched, one arm just
starting back for the punch while at the same instant shoulders
and chest were coming forward. But he restrained himself at sight
of Billy's unstartled body and cold and cloudy ayes. He had made
no move of mind or muscle. It was as if he were unaware of the
threatened attack. All of which constituted a new thing in Long's
experience.

"Maybe you don't know who I am," he bullied.