red as if set with a ruby. As
he swung the door and advanced unsteadily, he tried to keep his face
averted from those in the room, and hitched petulantly at a sleeve of
his shirt, which had been ripped from end to end by a blow. Spent, bent,
beaten, half-blind, puffing pink foam from his mouth at each breath, he
stumbled toward the bedroom. The back of one hand was cut and raw, where
he had driven it with all his might against a side of the old printing
shop, hoping to strike the scoutmaster. From it fell drops which made
small, round, black spots on the dusty floor.

At sight of the big man, so cowed and helpless, "God save us!" breathed
Father Pat, astounded, and sat down.

"Mister Barber!" It was Johnnie, timidly. Yet he forced himself to go
close to the longshoreman, and held the brimming basin well forward.
"Can I--will y' let me wash y'r face?"

"Lemme _alone_!" almost screamed Big Tom. With a curse, and without
turning his head, he made one of those flail-like sweeps with an arm,
struck the basin, and sent it full in the face of the boy. It drenched
the big, old shirt, emptied out the wet handkerchief, and whirled to the
floor with a clatter.

Then, mumbling another curse, the longshoreman spat, and a large, brown
tooth went skipping across the room. Its owner lumbered against the
bedroom door, bumping it with knees and forehead, opened it awkwardly
against himself, half fell upon the wheel chair as he crossed the sill,
swore louder than ever, and slammed the door at his heels, shutting from
the sight of the others his wounds and his injured pride.

For a little, no one said anything. Johnnie, with the water dripping
from his yellow hair, was no longer in that generous, good-scout state
of mind. On the contrary, he was enjoying some satisfaction over Big
Tom's plight. How like a bully was his foster father acting!--bellowing
with delight when he overcame a man smaller than himself, and one who
had poor sight; and raging when a second smaller man met and bested him
in a fair fight. But Johnnie made no comment as he picked up the
handkerchief and the basin, wrung out the linen square and methodically
hung it up to dry, and put away the pan.

"Man dear," whispered Father Pat to the scoutmaster, "don't ye ever be
visitin' here agin! For, shure, Barber'll kill ye!"

"Oh!"--Johnnie was frightened. "And maybe he'll have y' 'rested!"

"No, old fellow," said Mr. Perkins, reassuringly. "He's lost out, and
he's no