th' old beggar woman, an' went his way.

"Garnett an' O'Toole came along a few minutes later an' saw th' beggar.

"'There he is. That's him,' sung out the old sailor, pintin' to th' old
gal walkin' along wid her rags tied in a bundle tucked under her arm, fer
she had made shift to change thim fer Jameson's slops.

"''Pon me whurd, ye're right fer onct agin,' says O'Toole.

"'Well, don't go a-spoilin' th' thing this time. Let me sail inter him,
an' if I wants yer, I'll sing out, an' ye can bear a hand an' help.'
Garnett swung across th' street to overhaul th' old woman, an' came up
behind her.

"'Evenin', old lady, I wants to have a talk wid ye;' an' he lays his hand
on her shoulder wid a grip to take a piece av flesh out. She stopped an'
turned quick.

"'_Caramba_!' she yells; 'I teach ye to insult a dacent old lady, you
Yankee dog. Help! Murder! ye bloody raskil! Help, help!' Thin she ware
upon him like a wild cat, a clawin' an' bitin', screechin' and yellin'.

"'Sink you for a bloody scoundrel, Jameson, I knows ye,' roared Garnett.
'Larry, there, bear a hand. I have him.'

"'Hold him thin, ye brave man,' sings out O'Toole, comin' up. 'Go it,
owld gal, give it to him. 'Tis a leddy-killer he is fer sure, 'pon me
whurd, fer a fact. Claw him, bite him, even though he's as tough as
nails. Yell him deaf, owld leddy. Do it fer his mether's sake, th'
scand'lous owld rake he is. Get his year in yer teeth an' hold on, fer
'tis a leddy-killer ye have in yer hands at last. Whang his hide off!
Whang him! Whang him!' An' I thought th' old raskil would die av laffin'.

"We ware crowdin' around thim to see th' fun, an' th' way that old gal
whanged an' lammed, an' lammed an' whanged, wud have brung tears to yer
eyes. 'Twas too much fer human natur' to stan', an' so away goes Garnett
down th' street as fast as his bow-legs can git him over th' beach, wid
his sheets slacked off a-runnin' free, an' likewise, b' th' same tokin,
away squares th' old leddy wid her skysails set an' everythin' drawin'
'cept her skirts, which she holds b' th' clews an' bunts.

"'After him! Catch th' blackguard!' bawls O'Toole, rolling on th'
pavement, laffin' an' bawlin'.

"That old beggar was clipper built, fer sure, for wid her skirts clewed
up she ware bearin' down fast on th' old mate an' kept his bow-legs
a-lurchin' afore th' crowd a-comin' along in th' wake a-yellin' an'
hootin' like mad. A man jumped out to stop him, but I knowed Garnett
wo