threatening, to my fancied raiding of his
property. We had it out with bare knuckles in the Swede's big back
room, with all the little tables pushed against the wall to make
fighting space, and the toughest crowd in San Francisco standing by to
see fair play. I was the younger, and as hard as nails, he was soft
and rotten with evil living, so I thrashed him soundly enough in five
rounds.

After he had taken the count, I turned away and commenced to pull my
shirt on over my head. I heard a sharp curse, a yell of pain, and the
clatter of steel upon the floor. When my head emerged, I beheld my
late antagonist slinking away before the threatening figure of the man
with the scar. The bully's right arm dangled by his side, limp and
broken, and a sheath-knife was lying on the floor, at the big man's
feet. The sight gave me a rather sick feeling at the pit of the
stomach, for I realized I had narrowly escaped being knifed.

The scar-faced man would not listen to my thanks. He bestowed upon me
a cool, bracing glance, and remarked, "You must never take your eyes
off one of that breed!" Then he resumed his seat at a table in the far
corner of the room, and quite plainly dismissed the incident from his
mind.

Indeed, the house as speedily dismissed the incident from Its
collective mind. A fist fight or a knifing was but a momentary
diversion in the Swede's place. Five minutes after he left the room,
the whipped bully left the establishment, his one good hand carrying
his duffle. The Knitting Swede would have no whipped bouncer in his
employ.

That was a purple night for me. I was the victor, and the fruits of
the victory were very sweet. The Jewess murmured adoring flatteries in
my ear. The others--that crowd of rough, tough men--clapped me
respectfully upon the back, felt gingerly of my biceps, and swore
loudly and luridly I was the best man in the port. I agreed with
them--and set up the drinks, again and again. Oh, I was a great man
that night! The house caroused at my expense till late.

Only my silent friend in the corner declined to take part in the
merry-making. The man with the scar sat alone, drinking nothing, and
regarding with cool and visible contempt the dizzy gyrations of the
roughs who were swilling away the money I had worked for. But his open
contempt of them was not resented, even at the height of the orgy.
They were hard cases, rough, tough fighting men, but they gave the big
fellow ple