, she followed into the hole back of him, so that she found
herself in the second row of spectators to a curious struggle, the
details of which flashed in upon her all at once.

Two laborers, gross, tanned, dirty, were fighting. They had swung
side-on as the hole opened, and her glance focused itself upon the
smaller of the two. He was an old man, quite gray; and down his scalp
ran a stream of bright blood which trickled upon his ear. The thing
which puzzled her was the action of the older man. He seemed to be
hanging to the arms of his younger and sturdier opponent; also he was
talking rapidly, excitedly; and she caught only one phrase.

"Hit me with a nail, will you?"

And just then the younger man got his arm free, and dove for the
pavement--dove at precisely the same instant with Bertram Chester.
Apparently, the younger fighter arrived first; he backed off from the
scuffle brandishing a piece of packing box. Then she saw what the old
man meant. Pointing the weapon was a nail, stained red.

As this rough fury poised himself for the stroke, she took in the
whole picture--a young, tall, brute man, one eye puffing from a new
blow, the other blood-shot, the mouth open and dripping, the right arm
raised for the murderer's blow.

Bertram Chester came between as though he had risen out of the earth.
His left hand, with a trained aptitude which made the motion seem the
easiest thing in the world, caught the upraised wrist. The laborer
ripped out an unconsidered oath and struck with his free fist at
Bertram's face. Bertram evaded the blow, slipped in close. And
then--in a lightning flash of speed, Bertram's right hand, which had
been resting loosely by his side, shot upward. His whole body seemed
to spring up behind it. The blow struck under the point of the chin.
The head of the young bruiser dropped, then his shoulders, then his
arms; his body sagged down upon Bertram. The champion of age shook him
off; he dropped to the sidewalk. All this in a flash, in a wink.

The crowd, curiously inert, as all city crowds are until the leader
appears, now followed this leader. A clamor of many tongues
arose--"Get a cop!" "He's killed him!" "Do him up!" A short rush of
half a dozen boys toward the fallen bully met the resistance of
Bertram, who had turned as though anticipating such a movement. He
shoved them back and raised his hand. His eyes were bright, his face
flushed, and that smile which won and commanded men had broken out