preferred by the German larrikin to bare fists.

Dick could stand no more, and the members of that Peace Conference must
have thought about that time that a cyclone had struck them.

It was no time for fancy boxing. Two men who faced Dick went down like
ninepins before a terrific left and right between wind and water; a big
Bavarian hero brandishing a beer-bottle collapsed with a sudden and
acute attack of knee-in-the-stomach; and a strong and handy chair
coming to Dick's hand in the nick of time and used as a flail, and with
strict impartiality, soon did the rest. Berserk with fight, and with
the plucky little Jew to help him, Dick cleared the bar till not a soul
but the frightened bar-keeper and themselves stood within the locked
doors. Outside they could hear the crowd yelling for the police.

"Mein Gott, mein lieber Gott! Who will pay for all der smashes?"
whimpered the bar-keeper, wringing his hands, and looking round at the
trail of the cyclone.

"Tell the truth abaht that big fat 'ed starting the row to the police,
and I'll pay for the smash," said the little Jew. "And while we're
waiting for the police let's have a drink," he continued. "Here's your
health, guv'nor; blimey, but you're a bit useful in a scrap!" By this
time the police were pounding at the door. "My money my money!" again
pleaded the bar-keeper.

"Right-oh!" said the Jew, putting his hand in his pocket. His face
changed; quickly and anxiously he searched for his pocket-book it was
gone! Whilst they had had him on the floor they had improved the
occasion; and his blank stare of dismay was mirrored on Dick's face as
the latter remembered that he too was penniless and owed for a drink!

"Schwein-hunden! Thieves! Robbers! Dam-fools!" yelled the exasperated
bar-keeper, unlocking the door for the police. That night they slept in
a German prison.

CHAPTER II

Sydney could not disguise from himself the fact that the situation was
rather serious. The escapade would probably mean a sentence of a stiff
bout of imprisonment, or a heavy fine, and, as he was penniless, it
would perforce have to be the former.

"Hang that little Yiddisher!" he growled, as he sucked at his empty
pipe; "wish I'd let him get out of his trouble himself. No! I couldn't
have done that. He's a plucky little beggar, and I suppose he's as bad
off as myself now his pocket-book's gone. Still, I suppose something'll
turn up."

His optimism was justified, for about ten