ith his
tonglike arms, Barber pressed down with all his might on the shoulders
of the Westerner; and that moment in which One-Eye weakened the firmness
of his own stand by thrusting out a boot to dislodge his enemy, the
longshoreman had his chance; with a smothered voicing of his disgust
(for One-Eye wished to make as little noise as possible in that
semi-public place), down went the cowboy to his knees.

Several brunette heads were thrust out of doors above and below.
Melodious Italian voices exclaimed and questioned and replied, mingling
with cries in Yiddish and East Side English. All the while One-Eye
clasped Big Tom about the legs, and held on grimly, and received, on
either side of his weather-beaten countenance, a score of hard slaps.

These were skull-jarring, and not to be endured. So One-Eye thrust his
head between Big Tom's spraddled legs; then, calling upon every atom of
his strength, he forced his shoulders to follow his head, loosening the
longshoreman's clutch; and with a grunt, down came the giant, falling
upon the cowboy (which accounted for another grunt), and pinning him to
the dusty floor.

Sprawled, as it were, head and tail, a contest for upper place now
began. One-Eye writhed like a hairy animal (this the swish-swishing).
Being both slender and agile, he managed to wriggle out from beneath Big
Tom, who instantly turned about and caught him, and once more laid upon
him the whole of his great, steel-constructed bulk.

The pair strained and rolled. After several changes of position, in
which neither man was at all damaged except in his appearance, Barber
came to the top and stayed there, like the largest potato in a basket.
Then straddling the lighter man, who was blowing hoarsely, Big Tom
cuffed him leisurely.

As Father Pat listened to all this, leaned against the door with his ear
cocked, he hoped with all his heart for the triumph of right over might.
"And I can but stand by t' give consolation and bear witness!" he
mourned, though how he was bearing witness was not apparent.

"Oh, stop them! Stop them!" pleaded Cis, a hand over each ear, for her
courage was lessening. "Oh, I'm afraid he's hurting One-Eye awful! Oh,
Barber'll kill him, Father! And what good'll that do _us_?"

Thus implored, the priest took a swift survey of the hall. But, "Oh,
don't go!" Cis begged. "And shut it! Shut it!"

"Who's on top?" Johnnie wanted to know.

"They're wrastlin'," announced the Father. "So don't be