llie, excited, perhaps, by the presence
of the newcomers, seemed to lose all sense of the fitness of things, for
he dashed Margery's hand rudely aside, and shouted angrily:

"Aw, go on! What do you think I am? I'll give you that nickel when I'm
good and ready, and not before!"

"O-oh!" the newcomers chorused, in horror, and the young lady who had
already spoken to Margery exclaimed to the lady of the papers:

"Oh, Rosie, ain't he just awful?"

Then she turned to Margery.

"You poor thing! What's your name?"

Margery told her.

"Margery, did you say? Well, Margery, let me introduce you to my friend,
Rosie O'Brien. Rosie, this is my friend, Margery."

"Glad to know you," Rosie said, putting out the hand that was
unencumbered with papers. "And her name," Rosie continued, indicating
the introductress of the moment before, "is Janet McFadden. Janet, won't
you shake hands with my friend, Margery?"

Janet would, and did so most cordially. Then, pointing with her thumb
over her shoulder, not deigning to waste even a glance on Willie Jones,
she inquired haughtily:

"And what does he answer to?"

Margery told her.

"Huh! Well, we'll Willie-Jones him, all right, before we're through with
him!"

Now, it has been said that for every great cause a leader springs up.
This, no doubt, is also true of lesser causes. At any rate, the
businesslike manner in which Miss Janet McFadden proceeded at once to
roll up her sleeves was enough to convince one that the cause of
Margery's nickel had called forth its champion--a champion, be it
added, not only willing but able.

"Lay down your papers, Rosie," was Janet's first command, "and put a
stone on them so's they won't blow away. That's right. Now I guess we're
ready."

Willie Jones was regarding them all with dark looks, tinged, perhaps,
with just a shade of concern.

"Say there, you better look out what you think you're doing! If you're
not careful some of you'll get hurt!"

Janet McFadden answered this warning with an order to her own forces:

"Now, girls, don't hurt him any more than you can help!"

Willie Jones spluttered with rage, and while he was spluttering Janet
murmured tersely:

"Now's our time! When I count three, we'll go for him. I'll go for his
arms; Rosie, you grab his legs and feet; and Margery can make for his
pocket. Now! One--two--three!"

Willie Jones put up a gallant fight, but what, pray, are two stout arms
against six just as stout? What, say