gers's eyes made him turn
away.

"Come across with the free lunch," Hendrik bade the proprietor. To his
men he said, "Boys, get ready!"

These men-that-were--miserable worms, scum of the earth, walking
cuspidors--began to take off their armor. The bartenders were husky, but
hadn't the boss commanded, _Get ready!_ and didn't all men know he
meant, _Get ready_ TO EAT? Moreover, each sandwich felt he might dodge
the bung-starters, but not the boss's right flipper!

The union was making ready to fight with the desperation of men whose
retreat is cut on by a foe who never heard of The Hague Convention.

"Hey, no rough-house!" yelled the proprietor.

"Free lunch!" retorted Hendrik. Then he added, "_Quick!_"

The sandwich-men's nostrils began to dilate with the contagion of the
battle spirit. One after another, these beasts of the gutter took off
the boards and leaned them against the wall, out of the way, and eyed
the boss expectantly, waiting for the word--_men once more!_ Hendrik,
with the eye of a strategist and the look of a prize-fighter, planned
the attack. Like a very wise man who lived to be the most popular of all
our Presidents, he did his thinking aloud.

On occasions like this Hendrik's mind also worked in battle-cries and
best expressed itself in action.

"Free lunch," said Hendrik, "is free. It is everybody's. It is therefore
_ours_!"

"Give us our grub!" hoarsely cried the union.

"Three to each bartender," said Hendrik. "When I yell 'Now!' jump in,
from both ends of the bar at once--six of you here; you six over there.
Fleming, you smash the mirrors back of the bar with those empty
schooners. Mulligan, you cop some bottles of booze, and wait outside--do
you hear? _Wait outside!_--for us. I'll attend to the cash-register
myself. Now, you," he said peremptorily to the proprietor, "do we get
the free lunch? _Say no; won't you, please?_"

Hendrik radiated battle. The derelicts took on human traits as their
eyes lit up with visions of pillage. Fleming grasped a heavy schooner in
each hand. Mulligan had his eye on three bottles of whisky and, for the
first time in years, was using his mind--planning the get-away.

The proprietor saw all this and also perceived that he could not afford
a victory. It was much cheaper to give them seven cents worth of spoiled
rations. Therefore he decided in favor of humanity.

"Do what I told you, Jake," he said, with the smile of a man who has
inveigled friends into a