to have lunch. He had just ordered when he heard a loud and angry voice.
“You ignorant swine! This soup is cold!”
The complaint came from an irritated diner who was sitting with two others, a woman and another man, at the next table.
“Very good, sir, I shall take it back to the kitchen and have it warmed,” the waiter said.
“I don’t want it warmed, you ignorant dolt. I will require another bowl! I swear, the farther west one goes in this country, the more savage the people and the more incompetent the help.”
The man complaining was short, pudgy, and bald. He was sitting with a quiet, studious-looking man and a very pretty woman.
“Jay, please, can’t you just eat your soup without making such a fuss? There are a lot of people in here and you can see how busy the waiter is,” the young woman said. “I have tasted the soup. I find it quite warm enough.”
“Yes, I am quite sure it is warm enough for you, Cynthia, but you must understand that is only because you are willing to accept inferior as adequate and mediocrity as standard,” Jay replied. “I am not. I demand satisfactory service in all things and I say that being busy is no excuse for ineptitude. And just because you are content with less than acceptable conditions, that is no reason for me to be. You and Hendel are such mice that you would just let people run all over you.”
Cynthia did not reply, and she and Hendel ate their soup without complaint. Jay squirmed in his seat, waiting for the server to return with his soup.
Finally, the main course was brought, but there was still no soup.
“Oh, this is just unconscionable,” Jay said in anger. “Now the main course is here and I still have not had my soup.”
“I’m sorry, sir, I forgot,” the waiter said. “I will bring your soup now.”
“Well, no, you bungling oaf, there is absolutely no need to bring it now, for heaven’s sake. You have already served the main course, so what good would it do me now? However, I do want it clearly understood that I will expect an adjustment to my bill”—he held up a finger pointedly—“and you, my incompetent friend, may disabuse yourself of any expectation of a gratuity.”
Ignorning the obnoxious diner’s complaints as much as he could, though it was difficult as the man was at the very next table and found much to complain about, Matt ate his own meal. Afterward, Matt left the restaurant and walked around the depot, killing time until his train departed.
Matt saw a line of railroad cars sitting on a track at the far end of the car shed, and because he was just killing time until his train left, he walked over to look at them. The cars had been there for some time, as evidenced by the fact that there were cobwebs formed on the wheel trucks.
“No! Help! Help me, someone! Please help!”
The call for help came from the other side of the line of cars, and quickly, Matt stepped between the cars, then looked up and down the brick pathway. That was when he saw someone being set upon by two assailants.
“Give us all your money!” one of the two men said angrily.
“You two!” Matt called, starting toward them. “Get away from that man!”
Hearing Matt’s challenge, one of the two assailants turned away from the victim and started after Matt, holding a club over his head.
“Mister, you’re goin’ to learn better’n to butt into somethin’ that ain’t none of your business,” the club-wielding thug said. “Fact is, we’ll just take your money, too.”
The would-be assailant made a vicious swing with the club, but Matt ducked easily under the attack, then rising up again, caught the man with a hard blow to the chin. The attacker went down.
“What the hell!” the other thug yelled and, abandoning his attack on the victim, he came toward Matt holding a knife in his hand, low and turned sideways in the manner of someone who knew how to use a blade.
“Friend, this here is an Arkansas toothpick and I aim use it to gut you like a fish.”
Matt crouched down and managed to avoid the attacker’s first swipe at him. When the assailant made a second attempt, Matt stepped to one side, then kicked his adversary in the kneecap.
The assailant let out a loud yelp of pain, but he kept his feet and came after Matt with still another vicious swing. This time Matt stepped gracefully to one side, grabbing the knife-wielder’s arm as he did so. He twisted the arm violently, and heard the snap of a breaking bone, even over the sharp yell of pain.
By now, the first man had regained his feet, but seeing that they were now both disarmed, and that his partner had been injured, he gave up any idea of continuing the encounter. Turning away from Matt, he started running toward the front end of the long line of cars—away from the depot itself and out into the marshaling yard.
The second assailant, now holding his injured arm, glared at Matt for a moment longer. Then, realizing that he had been abandoned by the other assailant, he ran after his partner, limping badly on his injured knee.
Matt turned to the would-be victim.
“Are you injured?” he asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” the man replied. “No thanks to those ruffians.” He began brushing his clothes. “The name is Bixby, sir. Jay Peerless Bixby.”
It wasn’t until that moment that Matt realized this was the same obnoxious diner who had been sitting next to him in the railroad restaurant.
“I’m Matt Jensen.”
“Well, Mr. Jensen, you have my gratitude for coming to my rescue.”
“It was just lucky that I happened to be here at the right time,” Matt said. “I’m curious. What would bring you
