Nick gave the required order, and the fellow took down his whisky without seeing that Nick threw the contents of his glass upon the floor. “Now, mind what I’ve told you,” said Morris, as they stood in the doorway, “and don’t give me away. I shouldn’t have said anything about it if it hadn’t been for the whisky you throwed into me.” “’Pon me honah! I’ll not mention it to a living soul.” As the two passed into the bar-room the sound of excited voices came from the street in front of the house. Nick was now anxious to get away, but he paused for a moment and listened as the sounds became louder. In a moment a small boy, clad in the costume of a jockey, dashed in at the front door, and dodged behind tables and chairs in his efforts to keep out of the reach of a red-faced fellow, who, riding whip in hand, was pursuing him. The boy succeeded in eluding his pursuer for some moments, much to the delight of the bystanders. At length the little fellow, in leaping backward, stumbled over a chair and fell to the floor. Before he could rise to his feet the man had hold of his collar, and was brandishing his whip high in air. “I’ll teach you to play your pranks on me,” he shouted, bringing the whip down upon the boy’s shrinking form. The crowd seemed to enjoy the scene hugely, but it was not in the nature of Nick Carter to stand by and see the boy cruelly beaten. He was about to interfere when the boy succeeded in releasing himself from the man’s hold, and sprang sobbing behind the detective for protection. The brute made another dash at him, but the detective’s sturdy frame barred the way. “My deah fellah,” he said, “don’t hurt the boy. What has he done?” “He’s done enough, you confounded dude. Stand out of the way!” “If you touch the boy again,” drawled Nick, “I shall strike you.” The man raised the whip as though about to give the detective a lash in the face. The crowd laughed and cheered, and made the most of the rather humorous situation. The next moment their smiles changed to looks of astonishment. With a quick movement, the seeming dude secured possession of the whip. He then passed one arm half around the fellow’s head and neck, and gave him a sudden whirl that sent him spinning about the room like a top. As he spun around the detective applied the whip with no gentle hand, and fairly whirled and lashed the fellow out of the room. “Hurrah for de dude!” yelled a chorus of voices, as the defeated man stood outside, swearing and shaking his fists. “I thought dere’d be some fun w’en de duller raised his whip on de dude,” said Morris. “You oughter seen him clean out a couple of plug-uglies in de pool-room to-day.” Nick paid no attention to the remarks that were being made about him, but devoted his whole attention to the boy. “Where do you work?” he asked, hurriedly. “Over dere in de stables.” “What horses are there in the stables?” “Oh, Daisy, an’ Denver Bay, an’ a whole lot of ’em.” “Can you get away about dark?”