Bergman never finished his sentence, for in his rage he committed a grave blunder--he struck wildly at the flushed face so close to his, and the next instant was jerked bodily out of his seat. Lorelei uttered a cry of fright, for the whole side of the cab seemed to go with her employer. There was a brief scuffle, a whirl of flying arms, then Bergman's voice rose in a strangely muffled howl, followed by nasal curses. With a bellow of anguish he suddenly ceased his struggles, and Lorelei saw that Bob was holding him by the nose. It happened to be a large, unhandsome, and fleshy member, and, securely grasping it, Bergman's conqueror held him at a painful and humiliating disadvantage. Bob was panting, but he managed to say, "Come! We will run for the lady--once around the block." A muffled shriek of pain was the answer, but the street was empty save for some grinning chauffeurs, who offered no assistance. "Be a good fellow. I insist, my dear Nobel. Advance! Double quick! Charge!" The two men moved away haltingly, then at a zigzag trot, and finally at a slow run. They disappeared around the corner, Bob Wharton leading, Bergman bent double and screaming poisonous oaths. "Drive on, quickly," Lorelei implored, but the chauffeur cranked his motor reluctantly, craning his neck in an evident desire to see more of this interesting affray. His companions were laughing loudly and slapping their thighs. Despite Lorelei's hysterically repeated orders, he experienced difficulty in starting the machine; finally he lifted the hood and fumbled inside. A moment passed, then another; he cranked once more, but as the motor was seized with a fit of shuddering the two white-fronted figures turned the upper corner and approached. Their relative positions were unchanged. The block was a short one, yet they seemed winded. Bergman was sobbing now like a woman, and he was followed by three curious newsboys. Bob paused at the starting-point and wheezed: "Bravo! You done noble, Nobel. We've learned some new steps, too, eh?" All power of resistance had left the victim, who seemed upon the verge of collapse. "I say we've learned some new steps; haven't we, Bergy?" He tweaked the distorted member in his grasp, and Bergman's head wagged loosely. A late diner cruised uncertainly down the street, and, sensing the unusual, paused, rocking in his tracks. "Whash trouble? Shome fightin' goin' on?" he inquired, brightly. "Oh, please--please--" Lorelei cried, tremulously. "Don't--" "Canter for the kind lady," Wharton insisted. "Come on." He began to lift and lower his shoulders in imitation of a rider. Bergman capered awkwardly. "Once more." "Fine!" shouted the drunken spectator, clapping his hands loosely. "Tha's bully. Now make 'im shingle-foot." "Single-foot? Certainly. He's park gaited." "Mr. Wharton! BOB--" Lorelei's agonized entreaty brought her admirer to the cab door, but he fetched his prisoner in tow. "Let him go or--we'll all be arrested."