eye,
however, he noticed a policeman approaching on the opposite side of the
street. The sight lent a confidence which might have been lacking
otherwise.

"Why are you buttin' in?" he cried furiously. "This young lady is a
friend of mine. I'm tryin' to pull her out of a difficulty, but she's
got me all wrong. Anyhow, what business is it of yours?"

Fowle's anger was wasted, since Carshaw seemed not to hear. Indeed, why
should a chivalrous young man pay heed to Fowle when he could gaze his
fill into Winifred's limpid eyes and listen to her tuneful voice?

"I am very greatly obliged to you," she was saying, "but I hope Mr.
Fowle understands now that I do not desire his company and will not seek
to force it on me."

"Sure he understands. Don't you, Fowle?" and Carshaw gave the
disappointed wooer a look of such manifest purpose that something had to
happen quickly. Something did happen. Fowle knew the game was up, and
behaved after the manner of his kind.

"You're a cute little thing, Winifred Bartlett," he sneered, with a
malicious glance from the girl to Carshaw, while a coarse guffaw
imparted venom to his utterance. "Think you're taking an easier road to
the white lights, I guess?"

"Guess again, Fowle," said Carshaw.

He spoke so quietly that Fowle was misled, because the pavement rose and
struck him violently on the back of his head. At least, that was his
first impression. The second and more lasting one was even more
disagreeable. When he sat up, and fumbled to recover his hat, he was
compelled to apply a handkerchief to his nose, which seemed to have been
reduced to a pulp.

"Too bad you should be mixed up in this disturbance," Carshaw was
assuring Winifred, "but a pup of the Fowle species can be taught manners
in only one way. Now, suppose you hurry home!"

The advice was well meant, and Winifred acted on it at once. Fowle had
scrambled to his feet and the policeman was running up. From east and
west a crowd came on the scene like a well-trained stage chorus rushing
in from the wings.

"Now, then, what's the trouble?" demanded the law, with gruff
insistency.

"Nothing. A friend of mine met with a slight accident--that's all," said
Carshaw.

"It's--it's--all right," agreed Fowle thickly. Some glimmer of reason
warned him that an expose in the newspapers would cost him his job with
Brown, Son & Brown. The policeman eyed the damaged nose. He grinned.

"If you care to take a wallop like that as a fri