"Get out!" repeated the hostler and hustled the old man into the street. "If I catch you 'ere again, I'll break your neck." Sleepy Sol loved his neck, but the profit on gold lace torn from old uniforms was high. Next week he crept into the mews again, trusting to meet another hostler. "Clo'! Clo'!" he chirped faintly. Alas! the brawny bully was to the fore again and recognized him. "You dirty old Jew," he cried. "Take that, and that! The next time I sees you, you'll go 'ome on a shutter." The old man took that, and that, and went on his way. The next day he came again. "Clo'! Clo'!" he whimpered. "What!" said the ruffian, his coarse cheeks flooded with angry blood. "Ev yer forgotten what I promised yer?" He seized Sleepy Sol by the scruff of the neck. "I say, why can't you leave the old man alone?" The hostler stared at the protester, whose presence he had not noticed in the pleasurable excitement of the moment. It was a Jewish young man, indifferently attired in a pepper-and-salt suit. The muscular hostler measured him scornfully with his eye. "What's to do with you?" he said, with studied contempt. "Nothing," admitted the intruder. "And what harm is he doing you?" "That's my bizness," answered the hostler, and tightened his clutch of Sleepy Sol's nape. "Well, you'd better not mind it," answered the young man calmly. "Let go."' The hostler's thick lips emitted a disdainful laugh. "Let go, d'you hear?" repeated the young man. "I'll let go at your nose," said the hostler, clenching his knobby fist. "Very well," said the young man. "Then I'll pull yours." "Oho!" said the hostler, his scowl growing fiercer. "Yer means bizness, does yer?" With that he sent Sleepy Sol staggering along the road and rolled up his shirt-sleeves. His coat was already off. The young man did not remove his; he quietly assumed the defensive. The hostler sparred up to him with grim earnestness, and launched a terrible blow at his most characteristic feature. The young man blandly put it on one side, and planted a return blow on the hostler's ear. Enraged, his opponent sprang upon him. The young Jew paralyzed him by putting his left hand negligently into his pocket. With his remaining hand he closed the hostler's right eye, and sent the flesh about it into mourning. Then he carelessly tapped a little blood from the hostler's nose, gave him a few thumps on the chest as if to test the strength of his lungs, and laid him sprawling in the courtyard. A brother hostler ran out from the stables and gave a cry of astonishment. "You'd better wipe his face," said the young man curtly. The newcomer hurried back towards the stables. "Vait a moment," said Sleepy Sol "I can sell you a sponge sheap; I've got a beauty in my bag." There were plenty of sponges about, but the newcomer bought the second-hand sponge. "Do you want any more?" the young man affably inquired of his prostrate adversary.