"He got what was coming to him," said a soft feminine voice at Jimmy's elbow. The man looked to see Little Eva standing at his side. "I didn't think anybody could do that to Murray," she continued. "Lord, but it was pretty. He's had it coming to him ever since I've known him, but the big stiff had everybody around this joint buffaloed. He got away with anything he started." Feinheimer looked at Little Eva disgustedly. "He's my best customer," he cried, "and a bum waiter comes along and beats him up just when he is trying to have a little innocent sport on Christmas Eve. You take off your apron, young man, and get your time. I won't have no rough stuff in Feinheimer's." Jimmy shrugged his shoulders and grinned. "Shouldn't I wait to see if I can't do something more for Mr. Murray?" he suggested. "You get out of here!" cried Feinheimer, "Get out of here or I'll call the police." Jimmy laughed and took off his apron as he walked back to the servants' coat-room. As he emerged again and crossed through the dining-room he saw that Murray had regained consciousness and was sitting at a table wiping the blood from his face with a wet napkin. As Murray's eyes fell upon his late antagonist he half rose from his chair and shook his fist at Jimmy. "I'll get you for this, young feller!" he yelled. "I'll get you yet, and don't you forget it." "You just had me," Jimmy called back; "but it didn't seem to make you very happy." He could still hear Murray fuming and cursing as he passed out into the barroom, at the front of which was Feinheimer's office. CHAPTER XII. UP OR DOWN? After Jimmy had received his check and was about to leave, a couple of men approached him. "We seen that little mix-up in there," said one of them. "You handle your mitts like you been there before." "Yes," said Jimmy, smiling, "I've had a little experience in the manly art of self-defense." The two men were sizing him up. "Feinheimer can you?" asked one of them. Jimmy nodded affirmatively. "Got anything else in view?" "No," said Jimmy. "How'd you like a job as one of Brophy's sparring partners?" "I wouldn't mind," said Jimmy. "What is there in it?" They named a figure that was entirely satisfactory to Jimmy. "Come over the day after Christmas," he was told, "and we'll give you a trial." "I wonder," thought Jimmy as he started for home, "if I have gone up a notch in the social scale or down a notch? From the view-point of the underworld a pug occupies a more exalted position than a waiter; but-- oh, well, a job's a job, and at least I won't have to look at that greasy Feinheimer all day."