Larry growled an answer deep down in his chest; he was looking at Kelly and his two allies as they swaggered through the dancers. McGonagle rapped out a vexed oath, as he caught Larry by the arm. “I t’ought,” complained he, “that we’d pull off this affair wit’out any scrappin’; and here them mugs spoils it all. Say, if there’s a fight, Annie won’t do a t’ing but climb down me back fer fetchin’ her.” “My girl too,” said McCarty, dolefully. “Come out in the entry,” pleaded Goose. “Don’t scare the women!” Larry reluctantly went with them, casting glances over his shoulder at his prospective opponent. “The mug’ll t’ink I’m afraid o’ him,” said he. When they reached the entry he tugged viciously at the breast of his dress coat. “Damn it,” growled he, savagely, “the t’ing ain’t got no buttons on! I don’t want to get no blood on me shirt front.” “Keep yer eyes on Foley,” whispered Mike to McGonagle. “I’ll look out for Daily.” “D’ye t’ink ye kin hold him even? He pulls the beam fifty pounds more’n youse.” “I wouldn’t care,” smiled Mike, “if he was as big as the side o’ a house. The bigger he is the harder he’ll fall.” “Youse’re a nice-lookin’ pill, ain’t ye?” were Kelly’s first words. “Floor Manager, too,” sneeringly; “why, youse don’t know a lady when ye see one.” “She’s crooked!” remarked Larry, “and youse know she is.” “You’re a liar,” snarled Martin. “And even if she is, she’s better than some women I know of. She don’t live with--” He did not finish but leaped back and threw up his guard. Larry, his face wrinkling with a grin, was upon him, striking with the speed, precision and power of a practiced boxer. The exchange was heavy and rapid. The men panted and laboured for breath, cursing each other between their teeth. The policemen were clattering up the steps from the lower passage; the doorway leading to the ballroom was banked solid with the strained, anxious faces of partisans; women screamed shrilly; the music stopped with a crash. Suddenly Larry slipped and fell upon one knee; Foley made a quick, wicked kick at his side, and the next instant was thrown against the wall by the force of a smashing blow from McGonagle. Mike McCarty was staring eagerly into Daily’s face, his body quivering like that of a crouching cat, when the officers arrived. “Fire ’em out,” commanded McGonagle. “Fire the t’ree o’ them!” The offenders were promptly hustled down the stairs and out upon the sidewalk. A light rain was falling; the arc lamps sputtered and hissed in the silence. A form wrapped in a blue mackintosh, and holding an umbrella, was standing upon the steps. “Here he is,” laughed the policeman who held Martin; “and I didn’t have to tell him he was wanted, either.” The three ejected ones stared curiously at the woman; and the policeman laughed again and closed the door. “Mart,” said the woman, “I want to talk to you.” “Who’s yer friend,” snickered Foley. “Give us a knockdown,” said Daily.