Half a dozen friends of the Hooligan’s were standing idly about near a public-house close by. The Hooligan’s glance fell on them. There was a shady little tavern not much farther away, where half a dozen more would certainly be "on call." The Hooligan lit his short clay pipe, nodded to Isaac, and strolled away. Isaac saw the man approach his pals and enter into conversation with them. Then Isaac chuckled contentedly and went back to his work. The case Jim had been called to was a serious one, and he was detained over an hour in the wretched room the Pine Court urchin had conducted him to. He drew a deep breath of relief when he at length quitted the loathsome sleeping-den and walked down the dirty stairs into the comparatively fresh air of the court below. He was fumbling for his pipe, thinking to enjoy a smoke on his way back to the surgery, when a sight met his eyes which, for a moment, made his heart beat quickly. The narrow entrance to the court--whose opposite end was a cul de sac--was completely blocked up by a gang of louts. A glance showed him that their attitude was hostile to himself, and another quick glance round and about made manifest the disturbing and uncomfortable fact that he was absolutely cornered. He knew, however, that it would be fatal to show the slightest fear or hesitation. They meant mischief, and although, to the best of his reckoning, they were twelve to his one, he saw he would have to go for the lot. He walked quickly and resolutely forward. As he came up to the gang, the foremost of its members retired a few steps, for Jim’s prowess was well known to them. All but one--a stalwart ruffian who stood his ground and leered up impudently at the young doctor. "We’ve got yer this time," he said, exultingly. For reply, Jim hit him, and as the man dropped to the ground with a howl of pain, a knife fell from his nerveless hand. Instantly the rest threw themselves upon Jim. A blow from a knobbed stick crushed his hat in, and a belt-buckle, whizzing past his ear, cut right through his coat and nipped his shoulder. Simultaneously he was venomously kicked and struck on the body and legs. Still, no blow got really home, and Jim, warming to the fight, left a bruise every time either of his fists shot out. Several belts came swinging at his face; he dodged them, then seized one, wrenched it out of its owner’s hands, and lashed back at them with the cruel buckle. He was nearer the entrance of the court now, and as he fought, edged still farther that way. Perceiving his design, the Hooligans massed themselves between their single opponent and the outlet, and such were their numbers that Jim had to retire towards the blind wall at the end of the court.