e; in the dim light of his little room Tom saw the figure
of a man standing by the bed.

"Who are you? What do you want?" whispered the terrified lad, struggling
to rise to a sitting position.

"Mebbe ye doesn't know me, but I'm Patsey McConough, and it was mesilf
that saw ye shtrike out so boldly last night and save the gal that had
fallen overboard, and St. Patrick himself couldn't have done it any better
than did yersilf."

"What do you mean by coming into my room this way?" asked Tom, whose fear
greatly subsided under the words of the Irishman.

"I come up-stairs to wake ye, for I'm afeard ye are going to have trouble
onless ye look mighty sharp."

"What do you mean?"

Patsey carefully closed and bolted the door behind him, and sat down on
the edge of the bed, speaking in a low, guarded voice.

"There's a big crowd down-stairs, and Tim's grog is getting to their
heads, and they're riddy for any sort of a job. There are a couple of
Italian cut-throats, and though I can't understand much of their lingo,
yet I cotched enough of the same to make me sartin they mean to rob ye."

"But would they dare try it in the house here?"

"Whisht now, there isn't anything they wouldn't thry, if they thought
there was a chance of making a ha'pence at it. They've murdered men afore
to-night, and they would just as lief slip up here and cut your wizen as
they would ate a piece of macaroni. Whisht now, and I'll give ye the
partic'lars and inshtruct ye what to do. It wouldn't be safe for ye to git
up and go out, for they'll folly ye and garrote ye afore ye could raich a
safe place. I would stay here and watch with ye, but that I've overstayed
me time alriddy, and I'll catch thunder whin I git back home, 'cause I
can't make the boss belave the raison why I staid. Here's a pistol,"
added the Irishman, shoving a five-shooter into the hand of the
astonished lad, "and ivery barrel is loaded, and it niver misses fire, as
the victims can tell ye as have been hit by the same. Do ye take this,
bolt yer door, and if anybody comes poking in the room after I'm gone,
just bore a hole through him, and then ax him if he ain't ashamed of
himself to steal into a private apartment in that shtyle. Take me word for
it, he won't come agin."

"I should think not," said Tom, who was dressing himself. "But I don't
like the idea of shooting a man."

"Nor do I, but it's loikely to be a chice between shooting him or him
shooting ye, and ye are at libe