d and
lofty number, I expect; when all of a sudden they're stopped by someone,
there's a brief but breezy little argument, and I hears a soft thud that
listens like a short arm jab bein' nestled up against a jawbone. And
there's Pimple Face doin' a back flip that ain't in his repertoire at
all.

Course that spilled the beans. There was squeals, and shrieks, and a
gen'ral mixup; some tryin' to get closer, others beatin' it to get away,
and all the makin's of a young riot. But the management at the Maison
Maxixe don't stand for any rough stuff. In less than a minute a bunch of
house detectives was on the spot, the young hesitationer was whisked
into a cloakroom, and the other gent was bein' shot towards the fresh
air.

Just a glimpse that I caught of his flushed face as it was bein' tucked
under a bouncer's arm set me in action. I made a break for a side exit;
but there's such a jam everywhere that it's two or three minutes before
I can get around to the front.

And there's young Hollister, with an end of his dress collar draped
jaunty over his right ear, tryin' to kick the belt buckle off a
two-hundred-pound cop who's holdin' him at arm's length with one hand
and rappin' his nightstick for help with the other; while Uncle Noah
stands one side, starin' some disturbed at the spectacle. I knew that
was no time to butt in!

In that section of the White Light district too you can call up plenty
of help by a few taps from the locust. Cops came on the jump from two
adjoinin' posts,--big husky Broadway cops,--and they swoops down on
young Robin like a bunch of Rockefeller deacons on a Ferrer school
graduate who rises in prayer meetin' to ask the latest news from Paint
Creek.

"What you got, Jim?" puffs one.

"Young hick that got messy in the tango joint," says Jim.

"Ah, fan him a few!" remarks the other. "Hold him still now while I----"

At which Uncle Noah pushes in and holds up a protestin' hand. "Now see
heah, Mistuh Constable," says he, "I wouldn't go for to do anything like
that!"

"Wha-a-at?" snarls the copper. "Say, you old billy-goat, beat it!" And
he proceeds to clip young Mr. Hollister a glancin' blow on the side of
the bead. His next aim was better; but this time the nightstick didn't
connect.

There's been let loose a weird, high-pitched howl, which I didn't
recognize at the time as the old Rebel yell, but know now that it was.
Uncle Noah had gone into action. That walkin' stick of his was a
second-gr