Barber was against a wall, choking, spluttering. "You--you--you--!" he panted. "The idear o' hittin' a man without warnin'!" "I know," agreed Mr. Perkins, good-naturedly. "Also, the idea of pulling a man's nose without warning." Now Big Tom was in the proper frame of mind for the fight. "You go on downstairs!" he ordered. "And let me tell y' this: When I git done with y', they'll pick y' up on a quilt! Git that?--on a _quilt_!" Mr. Perkins opened the hall door. "You lead the way downstairs," he said. "I trust you, Mr. Barber, but somehow I don't trust your feet." Then the two went out, the longshoreman trembling with rage. CHAPTER XXXIV SIR ALGERNON TO the right, at the rear end of the long, black hallway that connected the area with the street on the north, was a good-sized room which had once been used by a job printer--as proven by the rubbish in it: strips of wood, quantities of old type, torn paper, and ragged, inky cloths. The room had a pair of large windows looking out upon the brick pavement; but as these windows were smeared and dust-sprinkled, the place offered privacy. And Barber, leading the way down from his own flat, did not halt until he stood in the center of it. "I'm not goin' t' have no cop stop this fight," he declared grimly. Mr. Perkins, entering, shut the door at his back. "Neither am I," he answered quietly. There was a moment's pause, as the two men, separated by several feet, gazed at each other. Physically, the contrast between them was horrific. Slight, neat, dapper, showing even no ill-temper, Mr. Perkins seemed but a poor match for Barber, whose appearance was more gorillalike than usual (hair disheveled, heavy shoulders humped, teeth grinding savagely under puffed and bristling lips, huge hands at the ends of long, curving arms, spreading and closing with the desire to clutch and rend). Yet Big Tom was plainly not so cocksure of himself as he had been, while the scoutmaster wore an air of complete confidence. Suddenly, muttering a curse, the longshoreman lurched forward and reached for the younger man. In the same instant, Mr. Perkins clenched his own fists and held them before him on guard. But also he advanced, though elusively, slipping to one side of those great paws. As he side stepped, with a duck of the head he gathered himself together, snapped forward, and landed a jab square upon Barber's right eye. "Ow-oo!" It was a bellow, mingling surprise with rage and pain. Involuntarily, the longshoreman fell back a pace, and lifted a hand to his face. As he did so, with another down-jerk of the chin, and another leap, once more the scoutmaster rammed him--upon the left eye. And followed this up with a lightning stroke on that big, twisted nose.