“‘Cos I say so,” Simpson replied.  “An’ wot I say goes.  Understand?”

But Joe did not understand.  He refused to understand that Brick Simpson’s word was law in San Francisco, or any part of San Francisco.  His love of honesty and right dealing was offended, and all his fighting blood was up.

“You give those kites to me, right here and now,” he threatened, reaching out his hand for them.

But Simpson jerked them away.  “D’ ye know who I am?” he demanded.  “I ‘m Brick Simpson, an’ I don’t ’low no one to talk to me in that tone of voice.”

“Better leave him alone,” Charley whispered in Joe’s ear.  “What are a few kites?  Leave him alone and let ’s get out of this.”

“They ’re my kites,” Joe said slowly in a dogged manner.  “They ’re my kites, and I ’m going to have them.”

“You can’t fight the crowd,” Fred interfered; “and if you do get the best of him they ’ll all pile on you.”

The gang, observing this whispered colloquy, and mistaking it for hesitancy on the part of Joe, set up its wolf-like howling again.

“Afraid! afraid!” the young roughs jeered and taunted.  “He ’s too high-toned, he is!  Mebbe he ’ll spoil his nice clean shirt, and then what ’ll mama say?”

“Shut up!” their leader snapped authoritatively, and the noise obediently died away.

“Will you give me those kites?” Joe demanded, advancing determinedly.

“Will you fight for ’em?” was Simpson’s counter-demand.

“Yes,” Joe answered.

“Fight! fight!” the gang began to howl again.

“And it ’s me that ’ll see fair play,” said a man’s heavy voice.

All eyes were instantly turned upon the man who had approached unseen and made this announcement.  By the electric light, shining brightly on them from the corner, they made him out to be a big, muscular fellow, clad in a working-man’s garments.  His feet were incased in heavy brogans, a narrow strap of black leather held his overalls about his waist, and a black and greasy cap was on his head.  His face was grimed with coal-dust, and a coarse blue shirt, open at the neck, revealed a wide throat and massive chest.

“An’ who ’re you?” Simpson snarled, angry at the interruption.

“None of yer business,” the newcomer retorted tartly.  “But, if it ’ll do you any good, I ’m a fireman on the China steamers, and, as I said, I ‘m goin’ to see fair play.  That ’s my business.  Your business is to give fair play.  So pitch in, and don’t be all night about it.”

The three boys were as pleased by the appearance of the fireman as Simpson and his followers were displeased.  They conferred together for several minutes, when Simpson deposited the bundle of kites in the arms of one of his gang and stepped forward.

“Come on, then,” he said, at the same time pulling off his coat.

Joe handed his to Fred, and sprang toward Brick.  They put up their fists and faced each other.  Almost instantly Simpson drove in a fierce blow and ducked cleverly away and out of reach of the blow which Joe returned.  Joe felt a sudden respect for the abilities of his antagonist, but the only effect upon him was to arouse all the doggedness of his nature and make him utterly determined to win.