simply fell and landed on his knees, his head low.

On came the sprinting driver. It was too late to stop or turn. Over
Jack Benson plunged the fellow, then landed in a heap on the sidewalk.

Jack was up like a flash. He heard a yell from the driver, but Benson's
gaze was upon the whip.

At a bound the submarine boy possessed himself of this weapon. He got
it, just in time, too, to wheel and face Fred Radwin, threatening that
fellow with the heavy butt-end of the driver's recent weapon.

"Get up behind the boy, you fool!" hissed Radwin.

"Sure, I can't," moaned the fellow, rubbing himself, real anguish
sounding in his voice. "My neck's broke!"

"Come on yourself, Radwin!" mocked Jack, backing against the wall of a
house so that he could face either assailant at need.

"Drop that whip, and I will!" hissed Fred Radwin, stealthily manoeuvering
about the boy, yet held back by a wholesome awe of that butt-end of the
whip.

"No; I like this whip too well," chuckled young Benson. "You can't
have it unless you take it from me. Want to try?"

"Come on, and get up, you dolt!" growled Radwin to the driver. "Do you
think we have all night to settle with this boy?"

"I can't get up, I tell you. I'm no good," moaned the driver. "I don't
know what I did to myself when I went down so hard."

"Hurry up!" insisted Radwin. "A crowd may come along at any moment."

"Let 'em," moaned the driver. "I can't stop it. I'll apologize."

At that very moment there came the sound of a shout further down the
street. Other voices answered.

"There, you dolt!" cried Radwin, angrily. "Now, you've wasted our last
chance. Here comes a mob!"

Backing off, Radwin grabbed up his useless comrade, forcing the driver
to his feet.

Seeing his enemy so occupied, Jack Benson edged off, holding the whip
so that he could use it.

From down the street came the sound of flying feet. Then, just as
suddenly the speed lessened.

"I'll wait until I get help, and I'll grab this pair," muttered Captain
Jack. "The police chief will be delighted at having a good, close look
at Fred Radwin!"

At that moment loud yells and coarse cries broke from the eight or ten
young men down the street. Then fist-blows sounded.

"Mine's a Chinaman's luck," grunted Jack Benson, disgustedly. "Only a
gang of drunken hoodlums down there. They'd stand in with anything
that is against the police. No use depending on such human cattle."

Jack, in fact,