BARBER took his time. He even prepared to have a smoke before "attending" to Johnnie. He fumbled through his coat pockets to find his pipe, grinning all the while at Cis.

Being bound had not subdued her. She looked back at him, her face quivering, her cheeks streaming with angry tears. "Oh, yes, he'll go after you!" she sobbed. "You needn't be afraid he won't! He likes to take somebody that's little and weak, and abuse him, just as he's abused me, because I'm a girl! You don't think, Johnnie, that he'd ever take anybody his own size!"

"That'll do!" warned Big Tom. He had found the pipe, and now came a step nearer to her. "Y'd better keep y'r mouth shut, young lady!"

"Don't talk, Cis! Don't!" begged Johnnie, half whispering.

"I will talk!" she declared. "All the years I've been here I've wanted to tell him what I think of him. And now I'm going to!—I am a young lady. You great, big coward!"

He struck her with the flat of one heavy hand. But as she instantly struggled, and frantically, throwing herself this way and that, and almost overturning the table upon herself, the longshoreman thought better of continuing the punishment, and crossed to the sink to empty his pipe.

Again Cis fell to sobbing, and talking as she wept. "I'm going to see that Father Pat knows about this," she threatened. "And everybody in the whole neighborhood, too! They'll drive you out of this part of town—you see if they don't! And, oh, wait till One-Eye knows, and Mr. Perkins!"

It was just then, as she paused for breath, that something happened which was unexpected, unforeseen, and terrible in its results. The longshoreman, to empty his pipe, rapped once on that pipe leading down into the sink from Mrs. Kukor's flat—then twice more—then once again.

It was the book signal!

Johnnie gasped. And Cis stopped crying, turning on him a look that was full of frightened inquiry. He tipped back his head, to stare at the ceiling as if striving to see through it, and he held his breath, listening. During the quarrel, he had not thought of Mrs. Kukor, nor heard any sound from above. Was she at home? Oh, he hoped she was not! or that she had not heard!

But she was at home, and was preparing to obey the raps. Her rocking steps could be heard, crossing the floor.

"Johnnie!" warned Cis. She forgot herself now, in remembering what might be threatening.

They heard the scrape of the book basket as it left the upper sill. Johnnie got to his feet then, watching Barber, who was leaning over the sink, cleaning out the bowl of the pipe with the half of a match. Oh, if only the longshoreman would leave the window now, before—before——

Almost gayly, and as jerkily as always, the basket with its precious load came dropping by quick inches into full view, where it swung from side to side, waiting to be drawn in. And as it swung, Big Tom caught the movement of it, faced round, and stood staring, seeing the books, but not comprehending just yet how they came to be outside his window, or for whom they were intended. And Johnnie, his face distorted by an agony of anxiety, kept his eyes on Barber.

"Ha-a-a-a!" Cis broke in, scornfully. "He's been asking old Grandpa questions, Johnnie! He's been spying on you, too! He ought to make a fine detective! All he does is spy!"

It was this which told Barber that the books belonged in his flat, and to Johnnie. "So-o-o-o!" he roared triumphantly, and grabbed the four strings. But now his anger was toward Mrs. Kukor.

His jerk at the basket had told her something: that all was not right down below. And the next moment she was pulling hard at the strings, dire amazement, and alarm, and dismay in her every jerk.

Big Tom, holding firmly to the basket, leaned out to call. "Hey, there!" he said angrily.

"Vot?"

"I say, what y' sendin' books down here for?"

An exclamation—in that strange tongue which she spoke—smothered and indistinct, but fervent! Then more jerks.

"Oh, yes!" called out Cis. "Now abuse her! Insult that poor little thing! She's only a woman!"

Barber had no time to answer this. He was pulling at the strings, too, trying to break them. "Let go up there!" he shouted.

"It wass my basket!"

With a curse, "I don't care whose basket it is! Let go!" he ordered, and gave such a wrench at the strings that all parted, suddenly, and the basket was his. "Y' think y're pretty smart, don't y'?" he demanded, head out of the window again; "helpin' this kid t' neglect his work!"

"I pay you always, Mister Barber," she answered, "if so he makes his work oder not!"

"Yes, and he knows it, Mrs. Kukor!" Cis called out.

"Don't you ever set foot in this here flat again!" ordered Big Tom.

"That's right!" retorted Cis, as fearless as ever. "Drive her away!—the best friend we've ever had!"

"You been hidin' these here books for him!" Barber went on, his head still out of the window, so that much of what Cis was saying was lost upon him.

"Ja! Ja! Ja! Ja!"

"Don't y' yaw me!"

But Mrs. Kukor's window had gone down.

Now every other window in the neighborhood was up, though the dwellers round about were hidden from sight. However, they launched at him a chorus of hisses.

"A-a-a-a!" triumphed Cis. "You see what people think of you? Good! Good! Why don't you go out and get hold of them? why don't you throw them around?—Oh, you're safe in here, with the children!"

Still Barber did not notice her. Leaning farther out across the window sill, he shook a fist into space. "Bah!" he shouted. "Ain't one o' y' dares t' show y'r face! Jus' y' let me see who's hissin', and I'll give y' what for! Geese hiss, and snakes! Come and do y'r hissin' where I can look at y'!"

More hisses—and cat calls, yowls, meows, and a spirited spitting; raucous laughter, too, and a mingling of voices in several tongues.

"Wops!" cried Big Tom again. "Wops, and Kikes, and Micks! Not a decent American in the whole lot—you low-down bunch o' foreigners!"

Cis laughed again. She was like one possessed. It was as if she did not care what he did to her, nor what she said to him; as if she were taunting him and daring him—even encouraging him—to do more. "Decent Americans!" she repeated, as he closed the window and came toward her, the books in his hands. "Do you think you're a decent American? But they're foreigners! Ha! And you call them names! But they don't treat children the way you've always treated us! You'd better call yourself names for a change!"

"And I s'pose that dude left these!" Barber had halted at the table. Now he turned to Johnnie, looking directly at him for the first time. The next moment, an expression of mingled astonishment and rage changed and shadowed his dark face, as he glared at the uniform, the leggings, the brown shoes. Next, "Where did y' git them?" he demanded, almost choking. He leveled a finger.

Johnnie swallowed, shifting from foot to foot. To his lips had sprung the strangest words, "There's people that're givin' these suits away—to all the kids." (The kind of an explanation that he would have made promptly, and as boldly as possible, in the days before he knew Father Pat and Mr. Perkins.) But he did not speak the falsehood; he even wondered how it had come into his mind; and he asked himself what Mr. Roosevelt, for instance, would think of him if he were to tell such a lie. For a scout is trustworthy.

Once more Cis broke in, her voice high and shrill. "Oh, now he's got something else to worry about! A second ago he was mad because he found out you had a few books! But here you've got a decent pair of shoes to your feet—for once in your life! and a decent suit of clothes to your back—so that you look like a human being instead of the rag bag! And you've got the first hat you've had since you were five years old!"

The hat was lying on the floor—to one side, where it had fallen from Johnnie's head when Barber had thrown the boy off. Now the latter went to pick it up, and hold it at his side. Then, standing straight, his sober eyes on the longshoreman, he waited.

"Where'd y' git 'em?" questioned Barber. He slammed the books on the table.

The big-girl hands worked convulsively with the hat for a moment. Then, "The suit was—was give t' me," Johnnie faltered.

"Gi-i-ive?" echoed Big Tom, as if this were his first knowledge of a great and heinous crime.

"Think of it!" shrilled Cis. "Johnnie's got a friend that's willing to spend a few dollars on him! Isn't that a shame!"

Barber did not look at her; did not seem to know that she was talking. "Who give it?" he persisted.

"It—it was One-Eye," said Johnnie.

"Oh, was it!" exclaimed the longshoreman. His tone implied that in all good time he would reckon with the Westerner.

"Yes, One-Eye!" cried Cis. "So you can take your temper out on him! Only you better look out! One-Eye's a man—not just a kid! And cowboys carry pistols, too! So you better think twice before you go at him! You'll be safer to stick to abusing children!—Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!"

While he was waiting for silence, Barber fell to examining the scout uniform, article by article—the hat, the coat, the trousers, the leggings, the shoes, his look full of disgust, and fairly withering. When he was done, he sank leisurely into the morris chair, a big hand on each knee, and the flat back of his head rested against the old soiled cushion. And now he concentrated on Johnnie's countenance. "So Mister One-Eye fitted y' out," he resumed, and his mouth lifted at one corner, showing a brown, fanglike tooth worn by his pipe stem.

"Y—yes, sir," replied Johnnie.

"Oh, be sure to sir him!" mocked Cis. "He deserves politeness!"

Big Tom showed all of his teeth. But not at what Cis had been saying; it was evident that some new and pleasant thought had occurred to him. He nodded his head over it. "I thought maybe it was that dude again," he remarked cheerfully. "But it was One-Eye fitted y' out! Hm! And when I'm off at work, instead o' doin' what y' ought t', y' fix y'rself up, don't y'?—soldier boy stuff!"

"I—I do my work in these," pleaded Johnnie. "I do! Honest! See how nice the place is! I don't shirk nothin'! 'Cause y' see, a scout, he——"

Big Tom let him get no further. "Take them rags off!" he commanded. The last trace of that smile was gone. The bulging eyes looked out through slits. That underlip was thrust forward wrathfully.

"Take your suit off, Johnnie," counseled Cis. "Don't you see he hates to have you look nice?"

"My—my scout suit!" faltered the boy. The light in those peering, bloodshot eyes told him that the longshoreman would mistreat that beloved uniform; and Johnnie wanted to gain time. Something, or some one, might interrupt, and thus stave off—what?

Barber straightened. "Take—it—off," he said quietly, but with heat; and added, "Before I tear it off."

Johnnie proceeded to carry out the order. He put the beautiful olive-drab hat on the table. Next he unfastened the neat, webbed belt, and unlaced the soldierly leggings. The emblemed coat came off carefully. The khaki shirt followed. Last of all, having slipped his feet out of the wonderful shoes, he pulled off the trousers, and stood, a pathetic little figure, in an old undershirt of Grandpa's, the sleeves of which he had shortened, and a pair of Grandpa's underdrawers, similarly cut—to knee length.

Barber stared at the underclothes. "Who said y' could wear my old man's things?" he asked.

"N—nobody."

"They're too small for Grandpa," declared Cis, stoutly. "Johnnie might as well wear them. If he didn't, I'd throw them away, or use them for dishcloths."

Barber did not notice the girl. "Nobody," he repeated. "But y' go ahead and use the scissors on 'em!"

"Your shirts 're so big," reminded Johnnie; "and the pants, too. And if I didn't wear nothin', why, I'd dirty the new uniform, wearin' it next my skin, and so——"

"Fold that truck up!" came the next command.

Under Grandpa's old, torn undershirt, Johnnie's heart began to beat so hard that he could hear it. But quietly and dutifully he folded each dear article, and placed all, one upon another, neatly, the hat topping the pile. Finished, he stood waiting, and his whole body trembled with a chill that was not from cold or fear, but from apprehension. Oh, what was about to happen to his treasured uniform?

Cis was silent now, refraining from angering Big Tom at a time when it was possible for him to vent his rage on Johnnie's belongings. But she watched him breathlessly as he rose and went to the table, and reached to take the books.

"So y' keep 'em upstairs?" he said to Johnnie.

"Yes, sir,"—it was a whisper.

"She's accommodatin', ain't she, the old lady?"

"She—she—yes."

"A-a-ah!" The longshoreman placed the books atop the olive-drab hat, crushing it flat with their weight.

"Oh! Oh, don't hurt 'em!" pleaded Johnnie. He put out a hand.

"Oh, I won't hurt 'em," answered Big Tom. But his tone was far from reassuring.

"I won't ever read 'em 'cept nights," promised the boy. "Honest, Mister Barber! And y' know y' like me t' read good. When—when Mister Maloney was here, why, y' liked it. And y' can lock 'em all away in the bedroom if y' don't b'lieve me!"

Big Tom leered down at him. "Oh, I'll lock 'em up, all right," he said. "I'll do it up so brown that there won't be no more danger o' this scout business 'round the place, and no more readin'." With that, he took up both the books and the suit and turned.

At the same moment Cis and Johnnie understood what was impending—the same terrible moment; and they cried out together, the one in renewed anger, the other in mortal pain:

"NO!"

For Barber had turned—to the stove.

Johnnie rushed to the longshoreman and again clung to him, weeping, pleading, promising, asking to be whipped—oh, anything but that his treasures be destroyed. And at the table, Cis wept, too, and threatened, calling for help, striving to divert Big Tom from his purpose, trying to lash him into a rage against herself.

"Oh, Mister Barber, y' wouldn't!" Johnnie cried. "They're ev'rything I got in the world! And I love 'em so! Oh, I'll stay forever with y' if y' won't hurt 'em! I'll work so hard, and be so good——!"

Barber uncovered the fire—that fire which Johnnie had built for the baking of Big Tom's pudding.

"The medal!" Cis shouted, straining at the rope which bound her. "Don't let him burn that! Johnnie! Johnnie!"

Johnnie caught at the coat. "In a pocket!" he explained. "My father's! Look for it! Let me!"

"A—what?" inquired Big Tom, lifting books and uniform out of the boy's reach. "What're y' talkin' about?"

"Don't you dare burn it!" Cis stormed. "They'll arrest you! See if they don't! You give it to Johnnie! If you don't, I'll tell the police! I will! I will!"

"Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!" laughed Barber. Holding everything under one arm, he took off a second stove lid, as well as the hour-glass-shaped support between the two front lids. The whole of the firebox was uncovered. It was a mass of coals. As the longshoreman hung over the fire, his dark face was lit by it. And now lifted in a horrid smile!

Cis's voice rose again. Nothing could save Johnnie's books and suit: there was no need to keep silent. "He's a devil!" she cried. "He isn't a man at all! Look! He's enjoying himself! He's grinning! Oh, Johnnie, look at his face!"

Johnnie fell back. And into his own face, twisted and wet with grief, there came an expression of a terrible wonder—the wonder that Big Tom, or any one, could be so cruel, so heartless, so contemptible. And there flashed into his mind something he had once heard Father Pat say: "There's not so many grown-up people in the world; there's plenty of grown-up bodies, but the minds at the top o' them, they're children's minds!" And, oh, how true it was! For Barber was like that—had a mind younger than Johnnie's own—the boy knew it then. Further, it was as mean and cruel and little as the minds of those urchins who shouted "old clothes," and "girl's hair." Yes, Barber had a man's body, but the brain of an ignorant, wicked boy!

"Look at my face all y' want t'!" he was saying now. "But there's one thing sure: after this we'll know who's boss 'round here!"

"This is the only place you can boss!" retorted Cis, turning wild, defiant eyes upon him. "A crippled old man, and a couple of young folks! But you bet you mind Furman!"

"A-a-a-a-a-ah!"

The cry was wrung from Johnnie. For with another loud laugh, Big Tom had dropped the scout hat upon the flames.

"Coward!" charged the girl, again writhing in her ropes. "Low, mean coward!"

It was beyond Johnnie's strength to watch what was happening. He threw up an arm to shut out the sight of Big Tom, and faced the other way. "Oh, don't!" he moaned weakly. "Oh, don't! Don't!" A strange, unpleasant odor was filling the room. He guessed that was the hat. Smoke came wafting his way next—a whole cloud of it—and drifted ceilingward. "Oh, Cis! Cis!" he moaned again.

Some one was in the hall—Mrs. Kukor, for the steps rocked. "Chonnie?" she called now. "Chonnie! Talk sometink!"

It was Big Tom who talked. "Oh, you go home, y' busybody!" he answered.

"Mrs. Kukor! Mrs. Kukor! He's burning everything of Johnnie's!" shouted Cis.

"Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!" burst out Barber, as if this had delighted him. Into the fire he thrust the khaki breeches and the coat, poking them down upon the coals with a hand which was too horny to be scorched by the fire.

"The medal!" mourned the girl. "Oh, I hope they'll punish you for that! And there's something you don't know, but it's the truth, and it'll mean a lot that you won't like!"

"Ye-e-e-eah?" Barber was waiting for the breeches and coat to burn.

"Yes! Johnnie's rich! He's got money! Lots of it! You'll see! You won't have so much to say to-morrow!"

Big Tom laughed. "T'morrow," he said good-humoredly, "I'm goin' t' have y'r brain examined." The room was half full of smoke now; he fell to coughing, and went over to pull down the upper half of the window. When he came back he thrust the leggings into the stove.

Peering round through the smoke, Johnnie saw that. "Oh!" he whispered. "Oh!" He went forward a few steps, weakly; then all his strength seemed suddenly to go out of him, and he dropped to his knees beside a wall, brushing it with his hands as he went down. There he stayed, his forehead pressed against his knuckles.

Once more Cis began to weep, in pity for his suffering. "Oh, don't you feel so bad!" she pleaded. "Just try to remember that we're going away, Johnnie! Mr. Perkins'll take us both, and Big Tom'll never see us again! And I love you, Johnnie, and so does Mrs. Kukor, and Father Pat, and One-Eye, and Mr. Perkins!"

"I know!" groaned the boy. "I—I'll try t' think."

"Mister Perkins!" scoffed the longshoreman. "Who cares about that tony guy? If he ever pokes his head into this flat again, I'll stick him into the stove!" The shirt followed the leggings, after which, with a dull clanking of the stove lids, he covered the firebox.

"But my jacket's burnin'," Johnnie sobbed. "My nice jacket! And the medal! Oh, the beautiful medal!"

"He'll pay for it!" vowed Cis. "You'll see! I know one person that'll make him pay!—for hitting me, and tying me up, and burning your things! Just you wait, Johnnie! It'll all come out right! This isn't over yet! No, it isn't!"

Barber was laughing again. The top of the stove was a reddening black. Upon it now he threw all the books; whereupon little threads of smoke began to ascend—white smoke, piercing the darker smoke of the burning hat and uniform.

As the books struck the stove, Johnnie had once more turned his head to look, and, "Oh, my Robinson Crusoe!" he burst out now. "Oh, Aladdin! And dear Galahad!" This was more than the destruction of stories: this was the perishing of friends.

"Never mind, dear Johnnie! Never mind!" The voice of the comforter was strong and clear.

Once more a stove lid rattled. Big Tom was putting the first book upon the fire. It was the beloved Last of the Mohicans. Johnnie's tearful eyes knew it by the brown binding. He groaned. "Oh, it's Uncas!" he told Cis. "Oh, my story! I'll never read y' again!"

"He'll wish a hundred times he'd never done it!" declared Cis. "It'll cost him something, I can tell you! He'll pay for them all, over and over!"

"Is that so?" Barber was amused. Now he threw the other books after the first. After that, he lounged to and fro, waiting till it was certain that even no part of the volumes would fail to be consumed. As he sauntered, he found his sack of smoking tobacco and refilled that pipe which had been the innocent cause of all Johnnie's misfortune.

With Big Tom away from the stove, the boy rose and crossed the room. They were turning into ashes, all his books and the other things, and he wanted one last look at them before they were wholly gone. He picked up the poker, lifted a lid, and gazed down.

"Don't y' touch anythin'!" warned the longshoreman, fussing with the matches as he strolled.

"I won't." Layers of curling black leaves were lying uppermost in the stove. And they were moving, as if they were living and suffering things. On some of the leaves Johnnie could see lettering. But as, at the sight, his tears burst forth again, the force of his breath upon those blistered pages broke them, and they crumbled.

He covered the stove and stumbled away. An odd thought was in his tortured brain: What Scout Law of the Twelve covered the burning of a uniform? of the books that all scouts should love? "Trustworthy," he repeated aloud; "loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient——"

"Oh, shut up!" ordered Barber.

"Yes, shut up, Johnnie," advised Cis. "Because those are all things this man doesn't know about—he's never heard, even, of anybody's being kind, or friendly." Then as there came from the stove a sudden snapping and blowing, she turned her face toward the longshoreman, and it was strangely unlike her face, so changed was it by hate. "Oh, you vile, vile thing!" she cried.

"Now I guess that'll about do," said Barber. "Understand me. I've heard enough."

"Nothing'll do," she returned firmly. "You won't ever stop my talking again! I sha'n't ever obey you again—no, about anything! And there are some things I'm going to tell about you. You think I don't know them—or that I've forgot. But my mother told me what she knew about you, and I remember it all. And to-morrow I'm going to hunt a policeman, and——"

In one long step he was beside her. "You—you—you!" he raged, choking. His face was blue, and working horribly, and there was fear in the bulging eyes. "What're y' talkin' about? Have y' gone clean crazy?" With a half-bend, he caught up a length of the clothesline from the floor and doubled it. "You open your mouth to anybody," he told her, fiercely, "and I'll break ev'ry bone in y'r body!"

"Cis!" Johnnie rushed to her, clung to her bound arms, and warned her to silence.

But she would not be still. She was triumphant, seeing how afraid he was of her threat. She straightened, moving the table as she moved, and broke into a shout of defiance. "Break my bones!" she challenged. "Kill me, if you want to! But I'm going to tell—tell—TELL!"

"I will kill y'!" he vowed, and doubled the rope into a short, four-ply whip.

Johnnie forgot everything then but Cis's danger. Once more he came to put himself, thinly clad though he was now, between her and Big Tom. "Oh, don't y' see she's half crazy?" he cried to the latter. "She don't know what she's sayin'! Oh, Mister Barber! Mister Barber!"

"They'll arrest him! They'll send him to jail! To the chair!" Cis was shouting, almost joyously, remembering only that now she was torturing their tormentor. "But I'll tell! I'll tell!"

Barber did not answer her. "Git out o' my way!" he growled to Johnnie. "'R I'll lick you, too!"

Facing Barber, Johnnie leaned back against Cis, half covering her body with his own. "Lick me," he begged. "Oh, but don't touch her!"

Barber bared his teeth, turning a look of hate upon the boy. "You!" he cried, and cursed. "I'll lick y', all right! I'll lick y' so's it'll be a week before y' leave y'r bed!" Taking a firmer hold of the looped strands, he swung them above his head; then with a deep breath, and with all the power of his right arm, brought them down.

A shriek—from Cis.

But Barber had not struck her. The blow had reached only the upraised face and breast of the boy, driving him against Cis with terrible force. Even in his agony Johnnie knew that, as he was pressing against her, she might be inadvertently struck as Big Tom struck at him; so, staggering sidewise, his arms held, crossed, above his head to keep the rope from his eyes, he got away from the table and the bound girl. But as he went he continued to clutch with all of his fingers at the rope which was now descending with awful regularity.

Shrieking, Cis covered her eyes by laying her head upon the table; and now she tried to cover one ear, then the other, to shut out the sound of the blows. And to her screams was added the voice of old Grandpa, whimpering in the bedroom, while he beat feebly at the door.

Johnnie, however, made no sound. Each stinging blow of the rope whip knocked the breath out of him, sending him farther and farther away from the table. Sometimes he reeled, sometimes he spun, so that as Barber drove him with lash after lash, he went as if performing a sort of grotesque dance. And all the while his face was purpling in two long stripes where had fallen that first cruel scourge.

With each swing of the strands Barber gasped out a word: "There!—Now!—Take!—Lazy!—Sneak!" Sweat dripped from among the hairs on his face. That white spot came and went in his left eye like an evil light.

Some one fell to pounding upon the hall door, and some one else upon a dividing wall. Then, with a crash, a bottle came hurtling through a pane of the window.

But Big Tom was himself half crazed by now, and seemed not to hear. "I'll learn y'!" he shouted, and rained blow after blow—till the small figure, those old undergarments almost in rags as the rope strands cut into his back, could stand up to no more punishment. Of a sudden, with an anguished sigh, the boy half pivoted, and a score of red bands showing angrily upon his bare, thin arms, gave a lurch, bent double, and went down, his limp body in a half circle, so that his yellow head touched his knees.

A hoarse shriek of terror and grief from Cis; she tried to rise, and dragged the table part way across the kitchen, her chair with it, striving to get to Johnnie. "Oh, you've killed him!" she cried. "You've killed him!"

Outside in the hall, the stairs creaked to the steps of several. Voices called. Doors opened and shut. Windows went up and down. From top to bottom the old building was astir.

Big Tom strode to the door and listened. Gradually, as quiet prevailed in the Barber flat, the other flats fell into silence, while the watchers in the hall stole away. Presently the longshoreman gave a chuckle. Nobody cared to interfere with him. He came sauntering back to Johnnie.

The boy was lying prone now, his eyes shut, his breast heaving. As Big Tom stood over him, his whole little ragged figure shivered, and he sucked in his breath through his clenched teeth.

"Ha-a-a!" laughed Barber. "So y' will stick in y'r nose! Well, I'll learn y'!" Catching Johnnie up in one big hand, he carried him to the table and laid him over its edge, arms outstretched, the yellow head between them, and the thin legs hanging down toward the floor. Then taking up that length of rope with which he had beaten the boy, he tied the spent body beside that of the well-nigh fainting girl.

"Now there the two o' y'll stay till mornin'," he announced when he was done. "Then maybe y' won't be so fresh about runnin' this place."

The sun was now below the tops of the houses to the west, and the kitchen was beginning to darken. Big Tom got down the lamp, lighted it, and carried it to the bedroom. "All right, Pa," he said cheerfully, "I'm comin' t' put y' t' bed now. Y' want y'r milk first, don't y'? Well, Tommie'll git it for y'." He returned to the cupboard for the milk bottle, gave a smiling look at the two heads leaned on the table, and disappeared to bed.

Presently some one tapped timidly on the hall door; but as there was no reply, the caller went softly away. A bit later, a gruff voice was heard on the landing, speaking inquiringly, and there were whispered answers. But the gruff voice died away on the stairs, along with heavy footsteps. Then only the distant rumble of the Elevated Railroad could be heard occasionally, or the far, seaward whistle of some steamer, or the scrape and screak of a street-car.

And so night settled upon the flat.