"Shut the door, will you?" he said in a curious white calm. "Thank you, Bill. Now take his knife from him, some of you. You know these bloody aliens." A silence had fallen on all. "What's it all about?" tittered Don John, trying to brave it out. "Arf a mo," said Ernie, rolling up his sleeves leisurely, "and then I'll show you. Now chuck him out into the ring. I thank you, Bert." In the Hotel the feeling between the aliens and the Englishmen ran high; and the latter obeyed Ernie's injunction with a will all the more because the fame of Ernie's left-handed punch had reached the Hotel from Old Town long since. Don John didn't like it, and he liked it less when Ernie began on him in all seriousness. One of the foreigners slipped out. Two minutes later Salvation Joe, magnificent in his red jersey, shouldered into the room. "What's all this then?" he growled in his voice of a drum-major. "Thought you was a Christian, Caspar?" Don John was spitting blood over the sink. Ernie stood in the middle of the floor, his head a little forward, ignoring the head-porter, his fists still milling the air with a rhythmic purposefulness that was almost dreadful. "Yes, I'm a Christian all right," he replied in musing voice. "It is more blesseder to give than to receive. I've give your friend a middlin bunt, and there's more where the same come from. He's only got to arst for it." Salvation Joe marched away to report to the Manager. "And went on after I'd spoken," he said. "Saucy with it too." Christmas was over; Easter some weeks away; things were very slack. The Manager was a thick young German with wavy black hair parted in the middle. He now sent for Ernie. "You can go at the end of your month," he said. "I'm sick of it." "You ain't the only one," retorted Ernie. "I'll go now." "Then you'll go without your wages," replied the Manager. Ernie went upstairs to his dormitory, dressed, gathered his few belongings, and came downstairs deliberately and with dignity. He felt exalted. Salvation Joe met him with a sardonic smile. "What, reelly goin?" he asked. Ernie experienced quite suddenly an immeasurable superiority to the head-porter. "I am, Mr. Conklin." "Without your wages?" "I'll leave them to you, Mr. Conklin," said Ernie quietly. "They're the wages of sin. This place is a brothel. And your Christ is my Devil." Leisurely, with a certain joy in his heart, and his bundle in his hand, he crossed the road to the Redoubt and climbed the motor-bus for Old Town. As he did so the memory of a like journey with a companion at his side was strong upon him. Somehow he had a feeling that Ruth would be on the top, awaiting him. Standing on the steps he peeped warily. She was not there; and his heart, that had been soaring, crashed to earth.