His attention was bestowed upon Harlson.
"Look here, young fellow! Get out of this, and get out quick! You're in the way!" Now, upon this young man Harlson, during this conversation, had come a certain increased ill humor.

He was in no violent mood, as yet, but he was not, as has been said, one for a big flabby brute to thus annoy.
He was quiet enough, though.
"I've come into a restaurant to get my supper." The man's red face became redder still.

"If you don't get out, I'll throw you out!" Harlson stood up.

"I'll not go!" he said, and then the man rushed upon him.
It was only a clean, quick blow, but there was no check nor parry to mar its full effectiveness.

The man plunged forward too confidently, the blow caught him fairly in the face, on the fullness of the cheek, just under the eye, and those bronzed knuckles cut in to the bone.