"Oh, a thousand pardons, Mr. Duff," Tom amended hastily. "I didn't
intend to insult your dignity. Indeed, I am only too glad to find you
resolved to be dignified."

"If you try to get fresh with me," growled the gambler, "I'll knock your
head off."

"Call it a slap on the wrist, and let it go at that," urged Tom. "I'm
very nervous to-night, and a blow on the head might make me worse."

"Nothing could make you worse," growled, Duff, turning on his heel, "and
only death could improve you."

"Then I'm distinctly opposed to the up-lift," grinned Tom, but Duff had
disappeared into a darker part of the cellar and the young engineer
could not tell whether or not his shaft had reached its mark.

"Ye wouldn't be so fresh if ye had a good idea of what ye're up against
to-night," warned the bully with the gun.

"I fancy a good many of us would tone down if we could look ahead for
three whole days," Tom suggested.

Other steps were now heard on the stairs. The newcomers remained
outside the illuminated part of the cellar until still others arrived.

"Now, gentlemen," proposed the voice of Jim Duff, "suppose we have a
look at the troublemaker."

"They can't mean me," Tom hinted to his immediate captor.