On Account of a Lady

WHEN great men! fall out they send for Associated Press reporters and all the world knows about it the next morning; but when the little fellows quarrel the news travels slowly and arrives late, bringing with it unquestionable proof of the large percentage of liars in the average community. For instance, if Fighting Sammy Dugan had been a champion of the world and Whitey Wil son a challenger for the title, sharp-nosed re porters would have had the whole truth out of one of them at least; but Dugan and Wilson were not great men. They were only preliminary boxers of the sort known as pork-and-beaners, and that they should quarrel at all was something of a joke. When reporters are not sufficiently interested to be curious, first explanations stand unchallenged, and because of this the theory of professional jealousy went unquestioned. The report was correct as to the jealousy, but it was not of the professional variety. It was the real old green-eyed sort, which nothing but the Eternal Triangle has ever been known to produce. There was a lady mixed up in it — * as there has been in nearly all the serious trouble since the apple and the snake — and in this particular case it was the brown-eyed one who presided over the cash register at the end of T-bone Eiley's lunch counter. T-bone, so called because he served the best T-bone steaks in the world for thirty cents — - this was before the increased cost of living be came a burning issue; probably T-bone's steaks are thinner now — was a philanthropist in his own peculiar way. He fed all the preliminary fighters whether they had any money or not. ''And why shouldn't I?" asked Eiley. "Where are these pork-and-beaners going to eat if they don't eat with me? If a fighter don't eat reg'lar he can't fight; and me, I like to see good fights. I'm what you call a patron of the arts, I am; and when these birds ain't got any dough I put 'em on the slate till they get some. They always settle. I haven't lost a nickel on 'em, because they ain't the kind of people that'll skin a friend." There had always been a great deal of social freedom and personal liberty at Eiley's. A man ordered his steak — rare, medium or well done — and ate his cocoanut-custard pie with his knife, if such was his custom, and nobody said anything about it. If he had the price, he paid. If he did not have the price, he held up two fingers as he went out and Eiley made another entry in the dog-eared memorandum book which lie called his slate. T-bone's place was headquarters for fighters, pool sharks, racetrack touts, tinhorn gamblers and pinfeather clerks with sporting tendencies. Sometimes a rank outsider dropped in, but not often; for Eiley had a way of discouraging the sort of trade he did not want. We will let the Dis-and-Dat Kid, the king of the pork-and-bean brigade, describe an instance: "I'm in Riley's — see? — chuckin' a feed into meself. In comes a Clarence boy an' sets down beside me. He tipped his mitt de minute he took off his dicer. T-bone himself is behin' de counter because one of de regular Barters is out on a toot. T-bone gives dis Clarence party a setup an' asks him what will he have. "'Name it, cully!' says T-bone. "'Who do you t'ink you're talking to?' says Clarence, some peeved. 'Don't be so fresh!' "Den he orders a steak, medium, hashed brown, an' Java, Eight away he begins to holler. He hollers about de paper napkins an* he hollers about some egg on his fork. "'Dat's all right, cully,' says T-bone. 'We don't charge you for dat. We t'row in de egg wit' de steak — see?' "Pretty soon de bread don't suit Clarence. He wants French bread, an' he wants it split open an' toasted. An' he don't t'ink de butter is on de level. T-bone is good an' sore by dis time. "'You got de wrong number,' he says. 'De Astor Grill is furder up de street. Dis is Riley's joint. ' "'Joint is right!' says Clarence. "By-an'-by de steak comes off de fire an* T-bone slides it along de counter. Clarence takes one gash at it wit* his knife an' hollers murder. "'Call dis medium?' says he. 'It's bleed-in' r "'So '11 you be in a minute!' says T-bone; an' he grabs dat steak by de tail an' wallops Clarence on de jaw wit' it. Down he goes for de count, an' T-bone comes out from behin' and puts de boots to him proper. "'Now,' says T-bone, jammin' de dicer on Clarence's head an* turnin' him round so's he could get one more good kick at him, 'don't you never let me ketch you in here no more! Out!! ' "Did he go? On, no; I guess not! He on'y jumped over free guys because he couldn't spare de time to go round 'em. De gall of him — pullin' dat highbrow stuff on Biley!" This was the atmosphere of T-bone's establishment in the old days before prosperity came. Eiley did well in spite of his peculiar credit system — or because of it — and opened a bank account when his hip pocket could no longer accommodate his savings. He bought a diamond ring — not even an expert could have told there was anything the matter with the diamond un less he put it under a magnifying glass — and later he allowed a fluent salesman to sell him a cash register. Eiley did not need a cash register any more than he needed a diamond, but he had to spend the money on something. Then, of course, he had to have some one to manipulate the machine; so he hired a brown-eyed girl named Myrtle Schmidt. Myrtle's presence at the end of the lunch counter shocked and amazed the regular patrons and for a time freedom of speech suffered greatly. The habitues became self-conscious, but gradually this feeling of restraint wore off and they voted Myrtle a "good feller." By this they meant that she laughed at their witticisms, listened sympathetically to their hard-luck stories and was not in the least stuck up or haughty. Fighting Sammy Dugan and Whitey Wil son were two of T-bone's star boarders. To gether they had risen from obscurity, making names for themselves by virtue of the talent that was in them. "When Sammy fought, Whitey was sure to be in his corner; and when Whitey fought, Sammy assisted with counsel and ad vice. They were bosom friends and had gone through many lean periods side by side. Sammy could make the lightweight limit if pressed — Whitey scaled a few notches below him; but the exact poundage of a pork-and-beaner is never an important matter. Professionally speaking, they were very evenly matched, Sammy's slight pull in the weight be ing offset by a longer reach. Both were rush ing, tearing battlers of the slambang school, and the Queensberry followers had long cherished the hope of seeing them matched in a ten-round encounter. The fight promoter had often broached the subject to the boys, always with the same result: "Nix! Whadda we want to fight for? We're pals!" Sammy was not at all a bad-looking boy. He had crisp curly hair, snapping dark eyes, a fair nose, a good chin, and he bore few scars of battle. Whitey was less fortunate. His hair was straw-colored; his eyes were a pale, faded blue; his complexion was heavily shot with freckles, and he had a tin ear that stood out from his head like a doorknob. Sammy might have won his way into the second flight at a beauty contest; "Whitey would have been disqualified at sight. They were the David and Jonathan, the Damon and Pythias, of the pork-and-bean brigade, and their friend ship was a sermon on brotherly love. Then Myrtle came to T-bone Eiley's to oper ate the cash register, and her flying fingers rang up trouble for the young gladiators. * ' Oh, gee! A skirt! "said Sammy, his mouth full of rice pudding. "A skirt working for Biley! Well, whadda you think of that?" "I think she's a queen!" said Whitey. "I wonder if she knows who we are?" said Sammy. "I see her givin' me the once-over a while ago." "Aw," said Whitey, "maybe she was lookin' at me." "At you!" scoffed Sammy. "If she was she was wonderin' how a feller could have a face like yours an* keep his health!" The rivalry began in fun, but the jest was short-lived. In fairness to Myrtle it must be set down here that she was in no way to blame. She was the sort of girl who smiles easily be cause of good teeth and a dimple, and she did not realize that danger may attend the practice. She smiled on everybody, for she wished to be on good terms with everybody. She was amused, though not impressed, when Whitey brought her a remarkable document, which he called his record. It was laboriously penwritten, with many inky flourishes; and the knockouts Whitey had administered were heavily underscored in red. Candor compels the statement that no mention was made of the knockouts scored against Whitey, thus bearing out Mark Twain's contention that no man can write an autobiography without becoming a liar of the first magnitude. "How int 'resting!" said Myrtle. "What is it!" "It's me record/' explained Whitey. "It tells who I've fought and all about it. I wrote it out for you. Some day when I'm a champion, you might want to take a look at it." 1 ' Oh, very well, "said Myrtle, who had not the slightest idea as to what this amazing screed might be. In the same accommodating spirit she accepted a worn pair of boxing gloves from Sammy. "I hung it on Battling Watlington with these, "said the donor modestly. * ' They might oome in handy to stick up in your room some- where. Take it from me, this Watlington is one tough guy! He gimme a fierce battle; but in the sixth round I tore into his pantry, an' when he dropped his guard — bang! goes the big right hook on his chin — an* he was through for the night. Sure you can have 'em I Souvenirs, you know. This blue ribbon is to hang 'em up with." Myrtle thanked Sammy as prettily as she knew how, but in her heart she regarded the gloves as nasty things and dropped them into a convenient ashcan on the way home. The same ashcan, by the way, received Whitey's record. Whitey witnessed the presentation of the gloves, and his heart burned under his ribs. Why had he not thought of that? There remained nothing but to belittle Sammy's gift, which he proceeded to do at the first opportunity. "There's some awful bad fighters round here," said Whitey to Myrtle, apropos of nothing. "Yes?" said Myrtle, seemingly much interested, but really not knowing what else to say. "Uh-huh! This Battling Watlington, he's a terrible piece of cheese. Awful! Can't fight fast enough to get up a sweat; and they say he takes a shot in the arm once in a while. Sammy was all puffed up when he knocked him out; but if he'd a took my advice Watlington wouldn't have lasted two rounds. 'Tear into him, Sammy!' I says. 'He can't hit hard enough to break a promise. Boot into him an' make him quit!' "If it had been me an' that "Watlington had lasted six rounds I wouldn't have done no brag ging — and I wouldn't have saved the gloves, neither. If I'm going to give anybody a souvenir it's got to be gloves that was in a real fight. Now Kid Cassidy — you saw him in my record, didn't you? — there was some fighting wolf; but I never did know what become of them gloves." And so on. Mischief of this sort, once afoot, travels rap idly and finds advance couriers to clear the way. Split-tooth Durkee, retired bantamweight pork-and-beaner and all-night waiter at Eiley's, assisted matters materially when he repeated to Sammy a portion of the foregoing conversation with embellishments of his own. "Whitey's doin' you dirt with the chicken at the cash register," said Split-tooth. "How so T ' demanded Sammy. "Now listen! I ain't no trouble maker," said Split-tooth virtuously; "and, anyway, you got to promise not to bring me into it. My fighting days are over — seel?" "You're declared out," said Sammy. "Tell me what he did." "Well," said Split-tooth, "to begin with, he says you ain't never licked no regular fighters like he has. He tells her you was all swole up over knocking out Battling Watlington — a feller that couldn't fight himself out of a paper bag!" Whitey say that? What's he knocking me for?" "Oh, that ain't all. He says he made you win all your fights by bein' in your corner an' tellin' you what to do. He says you'd have quit three or four times if he hadn't been behind you "Wait, now! Don't get excited. Bemem- ber, I'm out of this. I'm only tellin' you as a friend, Sammy!" Split-tooth was nothing if not impartial. The next day he had some interesting information for Whitey — as before, insisting on protection.1 There should be no closed season for the man who says: "I'm your friend and I think you ought to know this." "Sammy was pannin' you to Myrtle," said Split-tooth. "He was! "ejaculated Whitey. ' « Why, the dawg! What was he doing that for?" "To put you in bad, of course. You know what he told her? He said he hadn't never fought you because he was a kind-hearted guy and he didn't want to show you up before the public." Here Whitey gurgled incoherently. "Yes; he said you was only a harmless kind of nut that had kidded yourself into thinkin' you could fight. He told her he could put you out cold in four rounds any day in the week, and if he didn't do it he'd donate his share of the purse to charity. He said he could lick you and make you like it — them's the words he used — 1131] TAKIXQ THE COUNT make you like it! Gee! You ain't sore, are you, Whitey? I told you because I thought you ought to know what was coming off behind your back. I've always been your friend, ain't 1? Well then, keep me out of it." The secretary and matchmaker of the club which promoted boxing contests looked up from his desk to greet Whitey Wilson on the point of exploding with wrath and suppressed emotion. * ' Aw, Whitey I "said he. "What's ne w I" "I want you to get Sammy Dugan for me on the fifteenth of next month. I'm going to lick that fourflusher until he yells for the police. I'm going to hand him a trimming that will" "Hello!" said the matchmaker. "Have the Siamese Twins had a falling out!" "Worse than that!" said Whitey bitterly. "He's been going round making cracks that he could put me out in four rounds. Make it any distance you want — four, six or ten; if I don't stop him I won't ask for a nickel! Not a nickel!" "But suppose he doesn't want to fight you?" "He'll have to!" squealed Whitey. "He can't get away. I'll fight him in the street — anywhere! You can lock us in a cellar and drop the key down a well! I'll git him" "Easy! Easy! "said the wise official. "Don't get excited. Never give away anything that you can sell, Whitey. If there's a real grudge fight in sight let us stage it, and we '11 all make some money. What started the trouble between you?" "He's been lying about me!" said "Whitey. "He's been tellin' all over town that I only think I can fight" "And you won't think so long!" a third voice cut into the discussion. Fighting Sammy Dugan stood in the door way. After the initial outburst he ignored Whitey and addressed himself to the match maker, speaking with labored politeness. * ' Greetings and salutations! "said he. * ' Sign up this windbag for me. I'll fight him — winner take all; and if I don't make him jump out of the ring I won't ask for a cent." "Me — jump out of the ring!" screamed Whitey. "He better look out I don't make him jump out of the ring!" "Gentlemen! Gentlemen!" said the match maker. "Don't start anything here. Shake it up, boys; but don't spill it. Save it for the fifteenth. Now about the purse" "Any old way suits me," said Sammy. "Winner take all!" suggested Whitey. "One hundred dollars — winner take all," said the matchmaker. "Is that satisfactory?" "I'd fight him for nothing! "said Sammy. "That's what you '11 get! "said Whitey. "This is the real thing, "reflected the match maker. "What a pity the reporters aren't here I They could make quite a story out of this." Later in the day they did make quite a story out of it under headlines proclaiming the sundering of friendship's bonds and the dissolution of a partnership. Professional jealousy was mentioned as the contributing cause, which ex planation appealed to the sporting humorists and they made merry with the topic. Whitey was interviewed by a representative of a morn ing paper — a great honor, which almost overwhelmed him and made him nervous and voluble. "Say, print this, will you? "said he. "Put it in the paper that I'm going to fight this Dugan just to show him up — see? Just to let the public know he never was any good! Don't forget that. "Here's another thing you can put in — better write it down so you won't forget it — I'm going to meet him coming out of his corner and if I ever take a backward step I hope I don't get out of the ring alive. Got that? I'm going to hit him so hard that it will make his grandfather's head ache. I'm going to" * ' Yes, yes! "said the reporter soothingly. ' * I know you are; but what's it all about? What started the row? You used to be pals, didn't you?" "Sure!" said Whitey excitedly. "Sure, we did! That's what gets my goat. I've cut up my last dollar with Dugan many's the time; and now he's going round knocking me to every body. I don't want to talk about him for fear I'll forget myself; but put it in the paper that I say Sammy Dugan's a rat — "Whitey Wilson says so! Got that? He's got a streak of yellow in him as wide as Main Street! Don't forget that." The reporter did not forget, and Split-tooth Durkee saw to it that a copy of the paper containing this remarkable interview was handed to Myrtle Schmidt, who read the article with wide eyes. 1 ' Mercy sakes! "said she. ' * They must have had a quarrel!" "Yeh," grinned the diminutive Durkee; "it does kind of look as if they've parted doll-rags. "He stepped closer and lowered his voice insinuatingly. "And I'll bet you don't know what it was about or nothing. Oh, no! P'fessional jealousy! That's a hot one — that is! Say, you could tell these reporters a thing or two — couldn't you, kid?" "Miss Schmidt to you if you please!" snapped Myrtle. "And I couldn't tell anybody anything, because I don't know anything. What's more, I don't want to know! If any body mixes me up in a fuss like this they'll be sorry. I attend to my business, and I'll thank you to attend to yours!" "Just as you say," leered Split-tooth wicked ly. "Just as you say, girlie. You don't need to get sore about it. Nobody's trying to mix you up; but it's kind of queer when two old pals bust up like this and" "The cook is calling you! "interrupted Myrtle. ' * And you keep away from this end of the counter — do you hear? Bother me once more and I'll speak to Mr. Biley!" Split-tooth snarled as he moved toward the range. "Goin' to holler to T-bone, eh!" he muttered to himself. "She ain't had no use for me since the night I ast her to go to a movin '-pitcher show. Bawled me out good! I wonder who she thinks she is? Too stuck up for common people — yes, sir! Coming right up! German fried, wasn't it? There you are, sport!" m On the eve of battle, as the sporting writ ers so happily phrase it, the Wilson-Dugan match divided interest with the main event — an elimination contest in the White Hope division. All the world loves a grudge fight — sad commentary on our boasted civilization — and for days the reporters had bombarded their readers with articles on the approaching combat between the Siamese Twins of the pork-and-bean brigade — "side-kicks once, but strangers now," as one sporting writer put it. Professional jealousy was still the only ex planation offered, and at T-bone's place there was but one topic of conversation. The White Hopes were forgotten — it transpired later that they deserved to be — in the discussion of the relative merits and abilities of Fighting Sammy Dugan and Whitey Wilson. On the night before the fight there came to Kiley's one Ed Faraday, a sporting writer who tossed a nimble quill for an afternoon paper. He was seeking a T-bone, rare, French fried potatoes, apple pie and coffee. The hour was late, patrons were infrequent, and Split-tooth Durkee, having delivered Faraday's order to Saginaw, the night cook, lingered to gossip. ''Some fight to-morrow night, "said Split-tooth tentatively. "Those big hams?" said Faraday. "No chance — I could lick 'em myself." "Naw — not them. Whitey and Sammy." "Oh!" said the sporting authority. "Yes; if this grudge-fight talk is on the level it ought to be a hummer." Split-tooth grinned knowingly. "Don't worry," said he. "It's on the level all right." "How do you know?" "Never you mind how I know," said Durkee mysteriously. "P'fessional jealousy! Where do you get that stuff? You're supposed to be wise. You've been round and seen a lot of things come off. What is it that makes most of the trouble between pals, eh? What is it that makes a man want to lick his best friend? P 'f es-sional jealousy? Bah! Ain't there no other kind of jealousy?" "You don't mean to tell me there's a skirt in this! "said Faraday, pausing in the act of spear ing a pickle. "You've been asleep at the switch a long time, but you're waking up now," said Split- tooth. "A skirt! You've said it all. Pity you didn't know about it before you wrote that bunk about p'fessional jealousy. Gee! That handed me a laugh!" Durkee moved away from the counter. "Say, come back here!" Durkee paused un certainly. "Come here!" repeated Faraday. "You don't mean to tell me that Whitey and Sammy busted up over a girl?" "I don't mean to tell you nothing, "said Split-tooth. "Do you think I want to get in bad with a couple of lowbrows that have got me shaded on the weight!" "Oh, come on! "pleaded Faraday. "I'd treat it as confidential — honest, I would. I wouldn't tell a soul where I got it." "Nothing doing!" said Split-tooth firmly. 1 1 Why, you got a nerve to ask me! You eat here a good deal — you could 'a' seen it with your own eyes." Faraday struck the lunch counter with his open hand. "The girl at the cash register! "said he. "Go to the head of the class!" "What's her name?" "Myrtle Schmidt." "How old is she?" "Nineteen — say, what are you trying to do? Interview me? Nix! You've seen her, ain't you f Brown eyes, kind of dark complected, weighs about the featherweight limit, been working here about two months You ain't going to write anything about this, are you?" "No — of course not! "said Faraday with sarcasm. "I'm just gathering this information for the census bureau!" "Well," said Split-tooth with a sigh, "if you're going to spill it in the paper it ain't my fault. I can't stop you. All I ask is that you leave me out of it — see? I don't mind tellin' you a few things you ought to know — out of friendship — but I don't want no comeback. I can't go on the floor and mix with these rough-and-tumblers, and I ain't going out of my class to oblige anybody." ' * Mum's the word! "promised Mr. Faraday. "Now then, how did it start!" rv Fighting Sammy Dugan sat on a rubbing table in one of the tiny dressing rooms under neath the bleachers of the boxing pavilion, swinging his heels and listening to the roar of the multitude. From time to time he inclined an ear to the earnest words of the Dis-and-Dat Kid, his chief second and adviser. "Now remember, Sammy, don't git mad! Never mind standin' toe to toe an' slugging until somebody drops. Let Whitey fight dat way if he wants to. Wear him down wit* dat left an' den wham him wit' de right. Eemem-ber your reppitation, an'" The door banged open and T-bone Eiley entered, a thundercloud on his brow. He held a pink sporting extra in his hand, which he thrust under Sammy's nose. "You're a fine pair of mutts — you and Whitey!" said he. "Look what you done!" Sammy glanced at the paper and his jaw fell. A double row of black type three columns wide smote him with all the force of a blow be tween the eyes. DUGAN AND WILSON TO BATTLE FOB LOVE OP BEAUTIFUL GIRL! "Wha — what's this?" stammered Sammy, aghast. "Mighty innocent, ain't you?" sneered T-bone. "I '11 tell you what it is! It's my notion of a dirty trick! Here's a girl that's all right in every way — behaves herself like a lady, never mixes up in nothing and ain't looking for publicity. A couple of bum fighters get to quarrel ing over her and between 'em they cook her up a press notice like this. Listen while I read you a sample." T-bone cleared his throat and read as fol lows: 1 * ' The little god of love will referee to-night's battle between Fighting Sammy Dugan and Whitey Wilson, erstwhile friends, but now bit ter enemies and rivals for the hand of Miss Myrtle Schmidt, a petite brunette beauty of this city.' Wha'd'ye think of that— eh? 'Bivalsfor the hand!' Say, do you think she'd marry either one of you tramps?" "Marry!" gasped Sammy. "Nothing like that. And they've even got her name! Oh, if I can get the fellow who spilled this, Eiley, I'll murder him!" "You're sure you didn't?" questioned T-bone. "I've never mentioned her to a soul!" cried Sammy. "What do you take me for?" "Well, somebody spilled it," said T-bone, "and now it's all over town. Whitey says he didn't do it." "I wouldn't put it past him to do anything," said Sammy. "That's what he says about you." "He does? Oh, wait till I get him in the ring! Say, Eiley, do you think she '11 be sore?" "Sore!" T-bone laughed unpleasantly. "No; she'll be tickled to death to have her name mixed up with a couple of cheap fighters! A nice girl wouldn't mind a little thing like that at all! I haven't seen her. She's on the late shift to night; but I'd advise you to keep away from the joint until she cools out." Half an hour later Sammy Dugan and Whitey Wilson stood in the center of the ring, blinking in the glare of the arclights, ostensibly listen ing to the referee — an honest, conscientious soul — who droned monotonously about many things, none of which was new. Said Sammy, glowering at Whitey: "What did you get that put in the paper for?" Said Whitey to Sammy: "I didn't. You did it yourself — nobody else knew." ''You did!" "I didn't!" "You're a liar!" "You're another!" Said the referee, extending his arms and diving between the combatants: "Here! None of that! Can't you wait till the bell rings?" Thus, with an added cause for grievance, they waited for the clang of the gong. The honest and conscientious referee said it was a draw, and three thousand lay brethren applauded that just decision wildly. Then they fell back in their seats, hoarse, hysterical and happy. For once a grudge fight had justified its press notices. As a matter of fact, there was nothing else for the referee to do. "With both men on their feet at the end of the battle — dazed, battered and staggering, but still on their feet — he had no choice. He could not have awarded a decision on scientific points. There were no scientific points. He could not have declared either man a winner on aggressiveness. Both had been as aggressive as wildcats. In the matter of knockdowns honors were fairly even. Whitey had taken the count six times and Sammy five. As to punishments inflicted, there was little to choose. Sammy had a broken nose, but Whitey had lost a tooth. Sammy's mouth resembled a badly bitten damson plum, Whitey had a mouse under his left eye. Sammy had a lump on his jaw, but Whitey had a split lip. ''And as for blood," said the referee, ruefully regarding his soft white shirt, "between 'em they shed enough of it to free Ireland!" No sooner had the two soggy gloves been hoisted in the air than Sammy dashed out at one angle of the ring and Whitey hopped through the ropes at the other, thus violating all tradition. After a drawn battle it is customary for the gladiators to linger as long as possible, leaving the ring separately in order that the applause may be sustained. Two such precipitous exits were never before witnessed in that arena. "Say, you gotta have dat nose fixed up," said the Dis-and-Dat Kid to Sammy in the dressing room. "Plenty of time," mumbled the disfigured gladiator. "I shaded him in every round, didn't I?" On the other side of the partition Whitey's handlers besought him to allow them to reduce the mouse by the simple and expedient method of lancing it with the blade of a penknife. "To-morrow!" said Whitey impatiently. "Where's my pants?" It was a great race and Sammy Dugan won it by half a block. He burst into Biley's place out of breath, disheveled and perspiring freely. Split-tooth Durkee grinned behind the coffee boiler, and Myrtle stared stonily over the cash register. She had put on her hat and coat, and her bag dangled from her wrist. Her nose and eyes were suspiciously red. "They give it a draw," panted Sammy, "but I win a mile! Say, I want — to tell you — I didn't put that piece in the paper. It was Whitey did that— and" This declaration was interrupted by the accused, who hurled himself into the room, also breathless and perspiring. "Don't you believe him!" he cried. "'S a lie!" "Oh, you're both here, are you?" said Miss Schmidt coldly. "Well, I just want to tell you one thing: I wouldn't waste my time on hoodlums like you. I wouldn't look at you outside of this place. I wouldn't speak to you! You're trash, that's what you are — trash!" Her voice grew suddenly shrill. "The idea of you drag ging me into the newspapers like this — a couple of lowdown hoodlums like you! My fiance is going to be in town to-morrow. He's a brakeman on the railroad, and he's bigger than both of you put together. Just wait till he catches you— that's all!" She had stepped round the end of the counter and now swept out into the street, banging the door behind her. The battle-scarred gladiators looked at each other blankly. After a time they became aware of Split-tooth Durkee, who was grinning at them from a safe distance. "She's quit her job," said Split-tooth cheer fully — "Says she couldn't hold up her head in this joint again. And say, if what she tells me about this brakeman is right you better leave town now. He's bigger 'n a house!" Sammy and Whitey exchanged glances of deep concern. 1 'If that's the way it is "said Sammy tentatively. "We better stick together," said Whitey. They shook hands. "We can lick him if he's as big as Jim Jeffries! "said Sammy. "You're whistling!" said Whitey. They shook hands again. "You're a tough bird, Whitey, old boy!" said Sammy. "I'd rather fight a champion than take you on again." 1 1 1 never got such a lacing in my life as I got from you," said Whitey, thoughtfully stroking the mouse under his left eye. "Say, what started it anyway?" asked Sammy. "Why," said Whitey, "Split-tooth, over there, he said that you was knocking me to her. ' * "He told me the same about you," said Sammy. They considered the situation gravely, turn ing this information over and over in their minds. Then they looked at Split-tooth, who squeaked and backed suddenly into a pile of plates, sending them crashing to the floor. "Nix! Nix!" he begged. "Ain't we always been friends?" "You go round one end of the counter and I'll go round the other," said Sammy. "He can't get away," said Whitey. When T-bone Eiley dropped in he found Sag-maw in sole possession of the premises, which bore every appearance of having been visited by a cyclone. ' * What's happened here? "asked T-bone, estimating the damage with a practiced eye. "A whole lot of things," said the night cook: "Your cashier has quit. Sammy and Whitey are friends again. It was Split-tooth that got that piece put in the paper. He's in the Receiving Hospital." "Outside of that every little thing is all right?" asked T-bone. "So far as I know," said Saginaw. "Fair enough!" said T-bone Eiley.