The bar was all at once silent. Only the jukebox kept going.
"I know you're here!" I screamed. "Come out and get it! You louse, I
told you I'd get you for calling me a liar the day Wally sneaked a
smoke!"
Silence, everybody looking at me.
Then the door of the men's room opened.
He came out.
He looked _lousy_. Eyes all red-rimmed and his hair falling out--the
poor crumb couldn't have been over twenty-nine. He shrieked, "You!" He
called me a million names. He said, "You thieving rat, I'll teach you to
try to cheat me out of my candy ration!"
He had a knife.
I didn't care. I didn't have anything and that was stupid, but it didn't
matter. I got a bottle of beer from the next table and smashed it
against the back of a chair. It made a good weapon, you know; I'd take
that against a knife any time.
I ran toward him, and he came all staggering and lurching toward me,
looking crazy and desperate, mumbling and raving--I could hardly hear
him, because I was talking, too. Nobody tried to stop us. Somebody went
out the door and I figured it was to call the cops, but that was all
right. Once I took care of Chowderhead, I didn't care what the cops did.