oil poured upon the
fierce temper of the irascible Bosja, and he shouted loudly--

"If I hear any more of that diabolical 'tootum-too,' I swear by Allah
I'll take your life, and give your body to the crows and vultures."

"Ha, ha!" laughed the reckless Figgins. "Tooty-tum, tooty-tum,
too-tum--"

But before he could finish his musical phrase, the maddened Bosja had
seized his scimitar, and rushed like a bull at the partition.

The partition was thin, the Turk was burly and thick, and he plunged
through head first into the orphan's apartment, to the no little
surprise and dismay of the latter.

It was quite a picture.

Bosja waved his weapon over his head; Mark Antony Figgins hopped upon
the bed and wrapped himself tightly round in the clothes, clutching his
flute to his side.

For a moment the pair stood glaring at each other.

"Your flute, vile dog, or your life," shouted the Turk.

"I object to part with either," cried the orphan. "Go and have your
tooth out, and be happy."

Down came the scimitar with a swish in the direction of his head.

But the grocer had quickly withdrawn it beneath the clothes.

Not to be thwarted, however, in his vengeance, the burly Bosja swooped
down upon the heap, and dragged them up in his grasp, the orphan
included.

"Now I have you," he cried, as he seized the obnoxious flute.

"Give me my instrument, infidel," shrieked the orphan, as he threw off
the blanket, and clung to the flute with desperation.

At the same moment, he recognised the green and yellow-striped turban
on the head of the Turk.

It was Bosja into whose hands it had fallen, when Mr. Figgins was
escaping from the mob.

"That is my turban," he cried, as with one hand he dragged it from his
enemy's head, with dauntless vehemence, and bringing his flute down
with a smart crack on the Turk's bald pate.

The Turk, who was much more of a bully than a hero, was quite
confounded at the excited energy which the Frankish lodger displayed.
Dropping his scimitar, he then had a struggle for the flute.

Round the room they went, pulling and hauling.

At length, lurching against the door, it burst open.

The combatants now found themselves on the landing.

Here the struggle continued, till, at length, giving a desperate tug,
the flute came in half, and Bosja fell backwards, head over heels, down
the stairs, with the upper joint of the instrument in his hand.

The landlady, who thought the house was falling, cam