th emphasis. "They tell me,
blacksmith, that thou art strong. That thou art brutal I know, but thy
strength I doubt. Come to me and test it."

The old man sprang upon him, and the Bruiser caught him by the elbows
and held him helpless as a child. He pressed him up against the wall,
pushed his wrists together, and clasped them both in his one gigantic
hand. Then, placing the other on the blacksmith's shoulder, he put his
weight upon him, and the blacksmith, cursing but helpless, sank upon
his knees.

"Now, thou hardened sinner," cried the Bruiser, bending over him. "Beg
from thy daughter on thy knees for a night's shelter in this house.
Beg, or I will thrust thy craven face against the floor."

The girl clung to her newly-found husband, and entreated him not to
hurt her father.

"I shall not hurt him if he do but speak. If he has naught but curses
on his lips, why then those lips must kiss the flags that are beneath
him. Speak out, blacksmith: what hast thou to say?"

"I beg for shelter," said the conquered man.

Instantly the Bruiser released him.

"Get thee to bed," he said, and the old man slunk away.

"Wife," said Abel Trenchon, opening his arms, "I have come all the way
from London for thee. I knew not then what drew me north, but now I
know that One wiser than me led my steps hither. As far as erring man
may promise I do promise thee that thou shalt ne'er regret being cast
out this night into the storm."

THE RAID ON MELLISH.

Some newspapers differ from others. One peculiarity about the Argus was
the frequency with which it changed its men. Managing editors came who
were going to revolutionize the world and incidentally the Argus, but
they were in the habit of disappearing to give place to others who also
disappeared. Newspaper men in that part of the country never considered
themselves full-fledged unless they had had a turn at managing the
Argus. If you asked who was at the head of the Argus the answer would
very likely be: "Well, So-and-so was managing it this morning. I don't
know who is running it this afternoon."

Perhaps the most weird period in the history of the Argus was when the
owners imported a crank from Pittsburg and put him in as local editor,
over the heads of the city staff. His name was McCrasky, christened
Angus or Archie, I forget which, at this period of time. In fact, his
Christian name was always a moot point; some of the reporters saying it
was Angus and others Archie