of the third youth, who clung to the lamp-post.

"What about it, anyway?" said the stoutest of the three, advancing
towards Morris. "Do _you_ know her?"

"_You_ evidently do not," Van replied; then he turned to the girl
with the deference he would scarce have used to the leader of his
set. "If you will take my arm, I will see you safely to the nearest
policeman."

The girl hesitated and shrunk back a second; then, with that
instinctive trust which--fortunately, perhaps--is peculiarly feminine,
slipped her red, ungloved little hand into his arm.

The leader of the trio staggered a step nearer. "You're a nice
masher," he said thickly; "but if it's a row you're looking for, you
can find one pretty quick!"

Morris glanced at the man with genuine pity.

"You look as though you might be a gentlemen when you are sober," he
said. "_I_ am not looking for a row; and if you boys make one, you'll
only be more ashamed of yourselves on Christmas day than you should be
already. And now I wish to pass."

"I'll give you a pass," the other answered; and, with a lurch, he
fronted Morris and put up his hands in most approved fighting form. At
the same moment, the girl--with the inopportune logic of all girls in
such cases--clung heavily to Morris's arm and cried piteously:

"Oh, no! You mustn't! Not for me!" and, as she did so the man lunged
a vicious blow with his right hand, full at Morris's face.

But, though like J. Fitz-James, "taught abroad his arms to wield," Van
Morris had likewise used his legs to wrestle in England, and had
moreover seen _la savatte_ in France. With a quick turn of his head,
the blow passed heavily, but harmlessly, by his cheek. At the same
instant his foot shot swiftly out, close to the ground, and with a
sharp sweep from right to left, cut his opponent's heels from under
him, as a sickle cuts weeds, sprawling him backwards upon the
pavement.

Drawing the girl swiftly through the breach thus made, Morris placed
her behind him and turned to face the men again. They made no rush, as
he had expected; so he spoke quickly:

"You'd better pick up your friend and be off. You don't look like boys
who would care to sleep in the station," he said, "and here comes the
patrol wagon."

They needed no second warning, nor stood upon the order of their
going. The downed man was on his feet; and it was devil take the
hind-most to the first corner. For the rumbling of heavy wheels and
the clang of heavy hoofs upon