I mean, seriously now – the dude was just BEGGING to get in
some kind of altercation or another. The kind of altercation that Boffo would
NOT be interested in hadn't been invented yet.
All you had to do was walk close to the guy and/or look at him wrong and you'd likely spark a gasoline fire in that frizzy head of his.
So here was Boffo on one side of the boxcar, clumsily wielding an oxyacetylene torch, ripping at something close to the edge of the door frame, his torch popping with the noisy staccato of an amateur's unsteady hand.