n you came out," rejoined Roy, who, by this
time, was fairly boiling over. "Under the present conditions, however,
I think I shall continue to occupy it."

"You will, eh?" snarled out Dan Cassell, "then I'll show you how to
vacate it--so!"

With the words he laid hands on the back of the chair and jerked it from
under the young aviator. Roy, caught entirely off his guard, was flung
to the floor of the porch. He was up in a flash, but as he rose to his
feet Dan Cassell, evidently excited by what he deemed a great triumph,
aimed a savage blow at him.

Jimsy was rushing to his assistance but the red-faced man suddenly
blocked his path.

"Hold off, son! hold off!" he warned, "unless you want to get the
same dose."

CHAPTER VIII.

ROY MAKES AN ENEMY.

In the meantime Roy had skillfully avoided Dan Cassell's blow, and
was aggressively on the defensive. He was a lad who did not care for
fighting, but notwithstanding was a trained boxer. Something of this
seemed to dawn on Dan Cassell as the boy he sought to pummel dodged
his attack with such cleverness.

For a moment Dan stood stock-still with doubled up fists and a scowl
on his not unhandsome, though weak and vicious features. Then, with a
bellow, he rushed upon Roy, who contented himself by sidestepping the
furious onslaught.

This appeared to enrage Dan Cassell the more. Either he interpreted it
as portraying cowardice, or else he deemed that he had his opponent at
his mercy. At any rate, after an instant's pause he rushed at Roy with
both fists. It was the young aviator's opportunity.

"Look out!" he warned.

The next instant the pugnacious Dan Cassell found himself upon his back,
regarding a multitude of constellations.

At almost precisely the same time Jimsy's fist happened to collide with
the point of the jaw of the fallen battler's father.

"Sorry; but I simply had to, you know," remarked the nonchalant Jimsy,
as the red-faced man found himself occupying a position not dissimilar
to that of his son.

Both boys were heartily sorry for what had happened, the more so for
the reason that at the very instant that both crestfallen bullies were
scrambling to their feet the hotel door opened and several of the guests
came out to ascertain the cause of the trouble.

Among them was Jonas Hardcastle, the proprietor of the place.

"What's up? What's the trouble?" he demanded, in dismay, as he viewed
the scene of the confusion.

"It's those brats of