and plenty, first shovin' him on a step or two, and then
jerkin' him back solid. Loomin' up in the rear was a gent I spots
right off for Mr. Twombley-Crane himself, and by the way he follows I
takes it he's bossin' the job.

"Gee!" says I to myself, "here's some one gettin' the rough chuck-out
for fair."

And then I has a glimpse of a freckly face and the silly grin. The
party gettin' the run was Rusty Quinn. He's lookin' just as seedy as
ever, being costumed in a faded blue jersey, an old pair of yellow
ridin' pants, and leggin's that don't match. The bouncer is a great,
ham fisted, ruddy necked Britisher, a man twice the weight of Rusty,
with a face shaped like a punkin. As he sees me slow up he snorts out
somethin' ugly and gives Quinn an extra hard bang in the back with his
knee. And that starts my temperature to risin' right off.

"Why don't you hit him with a maul, you bloomin' aitch eater," says I.
"Hey, Rusty! what you been up to now?"

"Your friend's been happre'ended a-sneak thievin', that's w'at!" growls
out the beef chewer.

"G'wan," says I. "I wouldn't believe the likes of you under oath.
Rusty, how about it?"

Quinn, he gives me one of them batty grins of his and spreads out his
hand. "Honest, Shorty," says he, "I was only after a handful of
Turkish cigarettes from the smokin' room. I wouldn't touched another
thing; cross m' heart, I wouldn't!"

"'Ear 'im!" says the Britisher. "And 'im caught prowlin' through the
'ouse!" With that he gives Rusty a shake that must have loosened his
back teeth, and prods him on once more.

"Ah, say," says I, "you ain't got no call to break his back even if he
was prowlin'. Cut it out, you big mucker, or----"

Say, I shouldn't have done it, seein' where I was; but the ugly look on
his mug as he lifts his knee again seems to pull the trigger of my
right arm, and I swings in one on that punkin head like I was choppin'
wood. He drops Rusty and comes at me with a rush, windmill fashion,
and I'm so happy for the next two minutes, givin' him what he needs,
that I've mussed up his countenance a lot before I sends in the one
that finds the soft spot on his jaw and lands him on the grass.

"Here, here!" shouts Mr. Twombley-Crane, comin' up just as his man does
the back shoulder fall. "Why, McCabe, what does this mean?"

"Nothin' much," says I, "except that I ain't in love with your
particular way of speedin' the partin' guest."

"Guest!" says he, flushin'