about him; he had
suddenly become huge and dominant.

That he had been recognized was plain, for the armed man cried,
agitatedly: "Look out, Tom! I don't want any truck with _you_."

The deliberate advance continued; in a harsh voice Tom answered: "I
don't allow anybody to interfere with me when I'm eating!" For every
step he shuffled forward the man before him fell back a corresponding
distance.

Again the newcomer rasped out his warning, and Gray, too, added his
voice, saying: "Leave him to me, old man. This is my quarrel." As he
spoke he moved around the end of the table, but the mantled figure
halted him with an imperious jerk of the head. Without in the slightest
diverting his steady gaze, Tom snapped:

"Hands off, stranger! I won't have you buttin' in, either. I don't
allow anybody to interfere with me when I'm eating."

Gray was checked less by the exasperation, by the authority in the
speaker's tone, than by the fact that the entire complexion of the
affair had changed. The ruffian, who had entered so confidently, was no
longer the aggressor; a mere look, a word, a gesture from this aged,
unknown person had put him upon the defensive. More extraordinary still
was the fact that his power of initiative was for the moment completely
paralyzed, and that he was tortured by a deplorable indecision. He was
furious, that was plain, nevertheless his anger had been halted in
mid-flight, as it were; desperation battled with an inexplicable dread.
He raised his hands now, but more in a gesture of surrender than of
threat.

"Don't come any closer," he cried, hoarsely. "Don't do it, I tell you!
_Don't--do it!_'" There was no longer any thickness to his tongue; he
spoke as one quite sober.

When for the third time that malevolent voice repeated, "I don't allow
anybody to interfere with me when I'm eating," the solitary onlooker
felt an absurd desire to laugh. During intensely dramatic moments
nervous laughter is near the surface, and there was something rigidly
dramatic about the methodical, sidling advance of that man half
crouched behind his overcoat. Tom, as he had been called, gave Gray the
impression of Death itself marching slowly forward to drape that black
shroud upon his cowering victim.

Brief as had been the whole episode, already passers-by had halted,
staring faces were glued to the front windows of the cafe. Well they
might stare at those two tense figures, one advancing, the other
retreating, as if t