fellow staggered, Mr. Dootleby grasped the poker,
turning it so that its heated end touched his antagonist's arm. Of
course, the man loosened his hold, and in an instant more dropped upon
the floor. Then Mr. Dootleby, keenly alive to the necessity of improving
every second, caught the prostrate girl by the arm and threw her behind
him toward the open door. "Run for your life!" he said.

But she didn't run. She couldn't run, and while she was struggling to
get upon her feet, the fellow recovered himself and emitted a roar that
acted on her terrified soul as if it had been a blow. She fell
incontinently upon her back in a dead swoon.

Mr. Dootleby's situation was perilous. He had hoped by a sudden and
overwhelming attack to stun the man and get the girl out into the
street. But the man's quick recovery and the girl's exhaustion left him
in almost as bad a situation as ever, and he glanced apprehensively at
the party upon the benches.

They had scarcely stirred! One of the men, indeed, had risen, and was
standing with his hands in his pockets and something in the nature of an
amused smile upon his face. The others had so far shifted their
positions as to be the better able to see whatever went on, and only one
of them manifested the slightest desire to take a hand in the
proceedings. This was the little girl of twelve or fourteen. She was
intensely excited, and in the moment's pause that succeeded Mr.
Dootleby's onslaught she dashed across the room, and lifting the head of
the unconscious girl, rested it on her knee, and stroked it soothingly.

"Good for you, my child!" said Mr. Dootleby. "Try to bring her to."

The hideous old scoundrel, as he now turned again to confront Mr.
Dootleby, was more hideous than ever. Blood from the wound in his head
was trickling over his face, into which the fury of a legion of devils
was concentrated. "Sissy!" he bellowed, "go back to yer bench!"

"Don't do it, my child," said Mr. Dootleby. "You're all right. Run
outside if it gets too dangerous for you in here."

The fellow gathered himself together, evidently intending to dash past
Mr. Dootleby toward the bar beyond. But Mr. Dootleby lifted the poker
ominously. "Stand back!" he cried.

A slight chuckle came from the man who had risen from the bench. "Dey
don't seem ter be no flies on dis party, Pete!" he said, with a broad
grin.

Pete's answer was a scowl and an oath.

"W'y doncher come on, an' help me do him up?" he snorted.