‘What is the object of these insults, you scoundrel?’ cried Monteagle, still in the belief that he had fallen in with the fellow before, but where he could not recollect. ‘Oh—no object at all, at all. But if I is a scoundrel, there’s more than one on the Plaza jist, and he’s not beyond the raitch of my fist, nythur.’ This was rather too much for Monteagle’s patience, and accordingly he rushed upon the intruder and saluted him with a violent blow in the face. The Irishman staggered backwards a few feet and then recovering himself approached the youth in a boiling rage. As they met and exchanged blows, the people came crowding to the spot, apparently bent only upon seeing the fight, as no one attempted to interfere. Monteagle was a pupil of Frank Wheeler’s and the science he had acquired from the teachings of that accomplished gymnast enabled him to bother his bulky antagonist a good deal. This rendered the latter exceedingly angry, and a cry was raised by the by-standers, as they saw a Spanish knife in the hand of the Irishman, which he had dexterously drawn from some part of his dress, and with which he rushed upon the youth with the evident design of finishing him and the battle together. At that moment, and just as the youth had caught a glimpse of the steel flashing before his eyes, a powerful hand was laid upon the shoulder of the Irishman, and he was drawn violently backwards. Some of the crowd began to murmur, but the Irishman looked into the countenance of the intruder, and both he and Monteagle pronounced the word ‘Blodget!’ ‘How now, sir. What are you doing with that knife?’ cried Blodget in a peremptory tone. ‘You see it’s the thafe himself, the bloody robber!’ said the Irishman, passionately, though evidently cowering under the gaze of Blodget. ‘Who told you he was a thief? Begone, sir!’ cried Blodget, ‘Mr. Monteagle, I find you in bad company. Is that an acquaintance of yours?’ continued Blodget, with a gay laugh, as he turned to our youth, and pointed at the retreating form of the Irishman. ‘Not of _mine_, exactly,’ said the youth placing considerable emphasis on the word. ‘Oh—yes—a-hem. I have known the rascal some two or three months. We had his services in cleaning out a cellar and on several other occasions. Devil take the fellow—did he hurt you much?’ ‘Better ask if I hurt _him_,’ returned the youth, ‘for I think he would have carried away a piece of malleable metal with him, but for your opportune deliverance.’ ‘If he had not been too quick for you—he’s dexterous in the use of the knife.’ ‘Is he, indeed?’ ‘You wonder how I found out that fact. I have heard of his encounters with the natives. His name is James, commonly called Jamie, and there are many stories extant as to his prowess.’ ‘Strange he should have taken so much pains to insult _me_,’ said Monteagle. ‘He seemed to have something against you,’ answered Blodget. ‘Cannot you remember of ever seeing him before?’