e a pack of wolves.

"Why should I fight for them?" Joe reiterated.

"'Cos I say so," Simpson replied. "An' wot I say goes. Understand?"

But Joe did not understand. He refused to understand that Brick Simpson's
word was law in San Francisco, or any part of San Francisco. His love of
honesty and right dealing was offended, and all his fighting blood was up.

"You give those kites to me, right here and now," he threatened, reaching
out his hand for them.

But Simpson jerked them away. "D' ye know who I am?" he demanded. "I
'm Brick Simpson, an' I don't 'low no one to talk to me in that tone
of voice."

"Better leave him alone," Charley whispered in Joe's ear. "What are a
few kites? Leave him alone and let 's get out of this."

"They 're my kites," Joe said slowly in a dogged manner. "They 're my
kites, and I 'm going to have them."

"You can't fight the crowd," Fred interfered; "and if you do get the
best of him they 'll all pile on you."

The gang, observing this whispered colloquy, and mistaking it for
hesitancy on the part of Joe, set up its wolf-like howling again.

"Afraid! afraid!" the young roughs jeered and taunted. "He 's too
high-toned, he is! Mebbe he 'll spoil his nice clean shirt, and then
what 'll mama say?"

"Shut up!" their leader snapped authoritatively, and the noise obediently
died away.

"Will you give me those kites?" Joe demanded, advancing determinedly.

"Will you fight for 'em?" was Simpson's counter-demand.

"Yes," Joe answered.

"Fight! fight!" the gang began to howl again.

"And it 's me that 'll see fair play," said a man's heavy voice.

All eyes were instantly turned upon the man who had approached unseen and
made this announcement. By the electric light, shining brightly on them
from the corner, they made him out to be a big, muscular fellow, clad in
a working-man's garments. His feet were incased in heavy brogans, a narrow
strap of black leather held his overalls about his waist, and a black and
greasy cap was on his head. His face was grimed with coal-dust, and a
coarse blue shirt, open at the neck, revealed a wide throat and massive
chest.

"An' who 're you?" Simpson snarled, angry at the interruption.

"None of yer business," the newcomer retorted tartly. "But, if it 'll
do you any good, I 'm a fireman on the China steamers, and, as I said,
I 'm goin' to see fair play. That 's my business. Your business is to
give fair play. So pitch in, and don't be all night abou