"What makes you think I won't?" Gray became aware as he spoke that his
elderly neighbor had raised to the intruder a countenance stamped with
a peculiar expression of incredulity, almost of anger, at the
interruption, and that the two remaining counter customers had turned
startled faces over their shoulders, while the proprietor, his arms
full of dishes, had paused beside the swinging door to the kitchen.

That which occurred next came unexpectedly. The stranger whipped out
from under his coat a revolver, at the same time voicing a profane
answer to the challenge. The proprietor uttered a bleat of terror; he
dropped his dishes and dived out of the room; the men on the stools
scrambled down and plunged after him.

As Calvin Gray rose to his feet it was with a flash of mingled anger
and impatience. This quarrel was so utterly senseless, it served so
little purpose.

"My friend," he cried, sharply, "if you don't put up that gun, one of
us will go to a hospital."

In spite of the intruder's haste in drawing his weapon, he appeared now
to lack the will promptly to use it--his laggard spirit required a
further scourge, so it seemed; something more to goad it into final
fury. It was a phenomenon by no means uncommon, for it is not easy to
shoot down an unarmed victim.

By way of rousing his savagery, the fellow uttered a bellow, then, like
a warrior smiting his shield with his spear before the charge, he swung
his heavy weapon, smashing at one blow that silver-plated
merry-go-round with its cluster of bottles.

A shower of toothpicks, fragments of glass, a spatter of oil and
vinegar covered the old man in the end chair, and he rose with a cry
that drew a swift glance from the desperado.

Gray was upon the point of launching himself over the table when he
witnessed a peculiar transformation in his assailant. The man's
expression altered with almost comic suddenness, he lowered his weapon
and took a backward step. Gray, too, had cause for astonishment, for
the elderly man was moving slowly toward the disturber, his overcoat,
meanwhile, hanging loosely from his left shoulder, like a mantle. His
gray face had grown white, malignant, threatening; he advanced with a
queer, sidling gait, edging forward behind the shelter of his garment
as if behind a barricade. But what challenged Gray's instant attention
was the certainty of purpose, the cold, confident menace behind the old
fellow's demeanor. There was something appalling