hall was a smaller room rented by
the club. In this room personal difficulties that arose on the ballroom
floor were settled, man to man, with the weapons of nature, under the
supervision of the board. No lady could say that she had witnessed a
fight at a Clover Leaf hop in several years. Its gentlemen members
guaranteed that.

So easily and smoothly had Dempsey and the board done their preliminary
work that many in the hall had not noticed the checking of the
fascinating O'Sullivan's social triumph. Among these was Maggie. She
looked about for her escort.

"Smoke up!" said Rose Cassidy. "Wasn't you on? Demps Donovan picked a
scrap with your Lizzie-boy, and they've waltzed out to the slaughter
room with him. How's my hair look done up this way, Mag?"

Maggie laid a hand on the bosom of her cheesecloth waist.

"Gone to fight with Dempsey!" she said, breathlessly. "They've got to be
stopped. Dempsey Donovan can't fight him. Why, he'll--he'll kill him!"

"Ah, what do you care?" said Rosa. "Don't some of 'em fight every hop?"

But Maggie was off, darting her zig-zag way through the maze of dancers.
She burst through the rear door into the dark hall and then threw her
solid shoulder against the door of the room of single combat. It gave
way, and in the instant that she entered her eye caught the scene--the
Board standing about with open watches; Dempsey Donovan in his shirt
sleeves dancing, light-footed, with the wary grace of the modern
pugilist, within easy reach of his adversary; Terry O'Sullivan
standing with arms folded and a murderous look in his dark eyes. And
without slacking the speed of her entrance she leaped forward with a
scream--leaped in time to catch and hang upon the arm of O'Sullivan that
was suddenly uplifted, and to whisk from it the long, bright stiletto
that he had drawn from his bosom.

The knife fell and rang upon the floor. Cold steel drawn in the rooms of
the Give and Take Association! Such a thing had never happened before.
Every one stood motionless for a minute. Andy Geoghan kicked the
stiletto with the toe of his shoe curiously, like an antiquarian who has
come upon some ancient weapon unknown to his learning.

And then O'Sullivan hissed something unintelligible between his teeth.
Dempsey and the board exchanged looks. And then Dempsey looked at
O'Sullivan without anger, as one looks at a stray dog, and nodded his
head in the direction of the door.

"The back stairs, Giuseppi," he sai