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.
At this, Big Tom made a rush. So far, the fight was not of the kind he
had waged with One-Eye--a rough-and-tumble affair in which brute
strength and weight counted in his favor. But pounds, combined with lack
of training, slowness, and awkwardness, put him at a sad disadvantage
when facing this smaller, lighter man who had speed, and science, and
was accustomed to bouts. Since Barber could not change his own method of
fighting, he understood that he must change the tactics of his
adversary; must grab the scoutmaster, bear him to the floor, and beat
him. This he determined to do. Wildly he churned the air with those
knuckles of steel.
"If I git my hands on y'," he stormed, "I'll tear y' in _two_!" The
taste of his own blood was in his mouth now, for a warm stream of it was
spreading from his nostrils to his lips and chin.
"You won't get your hands on me," promised Mr. Perkins. He dodged nimbly
from side to side as the longshoreman came on, and kept just beyond the
latter's grasp. Watching his chance, he darted in and landed a fourth
blow--under an eye; then got away again, carefully preserving himself
against being struck while doing the greatest amount of damage possible
to the enemy.
All the time he watched to see that he was not cornered. A moment, and
the junction of two walls came over close to his back; so under one of
those flesh-and-blood flails he slipped; and, coming up behind Big Tom,
struck the latter a whanging blow on an ear. "You're going to spank me,
are you?" he taunted. "Well, come on and do it! Come on!"
More maddened than ever, and swearing horribly, the longshoreman whirled
and started a second pursuit. He blew the blood from his lips, the
better to breathe, spattering the scarlet countenance of Mr. Perkins
with scores of dots which were a deeper red. And as he blew, he cut the
air with his arms, hitting nothing.
"Why don't y' stand up and fight!" he raged. "Stop that jumpin' 'round!"
"Oh, you want to wrestle, don't you!" mocked Mr. Perkins. "But this time
you've got to box!"
"Y' won't git ev'rything y'r own way!" vowed Big Tom, panting curses,
and still whirling his arms like the fans of a windmill.
Changing his steps like a dancer, the scoutmaster fell back. But now he
was at a disadvantage, for his face was toward those windows, and the
light was in his eyes. As he flitted and shied, tiring Barber and
shortening the big man's wind, he watched his chance to bolt under and
by as before. Foot on foot the space between him and the rear wall of
the room lessened. He sprang, now right, now left, on the alert for his
opening. It came. He shot forward----
A staggering clout from a heavy hand hurled him against a side wall like
a battering-ram. The breath was driven out of his lungs. Dizzily he
plunged forward to his hands and knees among the debris on the floor.
"Ha-a-a-a-a!" It was a shout of triumph from the longshoreman.
But that wallop, hard as it was, had been delivered accidentally. And as
Barber, whose eyes were now swelling from the scoutmaster's initial
blows, scarcely knew where his opponent was, he failed to seize Mr.
Perkins, who was up like a cat, and on, and facing round.
"Now I'll git y'!" cried Barber. As he, in turn, faced about, he began
to kick out furiously, now with one foot, now with the other.
* * * * *
Each moment was passing in painful anxiety to the group in the Barber
flat. Mrs. Kukor made one of that group, having teetered in directly Big
Tom and Mr. Perkins were gone. Now her hat was off and her apron on;
with the latter she constantly fanned a face which, its color sped, was
a sickly shade of tan. All the while she murmured strange words under
her breath, only breaking out every now and then with an "Ach! poor poy!
Poor poy!" As she did not look at either Johnnie or One-Eye, it was
evident that she had Mr. Perkins in mind.
As for Father Pat, he complained about himself. "If I only had me
lungs!" he mourned. To and fro he walked, to and fro. "If only I could
do annything except talk! Dear! dear! dear! dear!"
The cowboy, blinder than ever, comforted himself with praising the
absent scoutmaster. "That young feller's O. K.," he asserted. "I can
tell it by the way he grabbed my paw. Yas, ma'am! I liked the way he
shook hands. He'll come out better'n me. Watch if I ain't right! I ain't
worryin'!"--this though the sweat of concern was even then dampening his
countenance!
Johnnie, listening and watching, curled himself farther and farther into
his quilt, and feebly groaned. He was seeing, seeing, seeing, and what
he saw was agonizing. "Oh, Mister Perkins'll be licked!" he faltered.
"Oh, I wish I could've went along. But I'm weak! Oh, Father Pat, the
next time I git licked, I'll keep it t' myself!"
"Oh, don't be silly!" admonished Cis, apprehensive, but calm, being
buoyed up by hope based upon solid information. "Didn't I tell you,
Johnnie, to 'wait till Mr. Perkins finds out'? Well, we waited, tied to
the table like two thieves, or something. And Mr. Perkins _has_ found
out, and he's giving Tom Barber a sound thrashing! So _I'm_ not
worrying!"
"I can see y' ain't," declared One-Eye, admiringly. He was back at the
sink once more, allowing Niagara to lave that injured eye, now a shining
purplish-black. "Bully fer the gal! That's the stuff! Y' got backbone!
And spirit, by thunder! And sand! Jes' paste _that_ in yer sunbonnet!
But, Cis, w'y don't y' skedaddle right _now_? Go whilst the goin's good!
Gosh, I'm 'feard that some one's likely t' git hurt pretty bad, and it
won't be Barber! So whoever it is will need t' be nursed."
"Oy! oy! oy! oy!" lamented Mrs. Kukor.
"I'll nurse him!" cried Johnnie, hardly able to keep back the tears.
"I'll go with him, and take care of him, and cook for him."
"Don't you understand, Johnnie? _I'm_ going with him! I'm to be Mrs.
Perkins! And--I'll be right here when Algy comes in."
"But--but--!" whispered Johnnie. What he was thinking made allowance for
no such charming event as a wedding; rather for the same sort of doleful
procession he had pictured before, only now Big Tom was in the carriage
with him, while poor Mr. Perkins----!
One-Eye had something of the sort in his own mind, for as he forsook
the sink, Mrs. Kukor leading him, he shook a rumpled head at her.
"Barber's bigger'n a barn!" he observed grimly.
"Pos-i-_tivvle_!"
Cis laughed, tossing her head. "_I_ don't care how big he is," she
declared, "or how mad! Algy can take care of himself."
Looking at her, Johnnie felt both pity and disgust--pity for the grief
she would undoubtedly suffer soon, disgust for her girl's lack of
understanding. Was not the young, boyish, slender scoutmaster fighting
this very moment for his life, and that with a steel-constructed giant?
"Aw, jus' look at One-Eye!" he counseled argumentatively, and groaned
again.
"Wait for Algy," returned Cis, crossing to slip an affectionate arm
about Mrs. Kukor's shoulders. "And don't fret. Because Algy's the
amateur light-heavyweight champion of his club, and it's an athletic
club, and----!"
"What-a-a-at?" roared Father Pat. "He's the--he's the--oh, say it
again!"
But even as Cis opened her lips to speak, swift steps were heard on the
stairs outside. She knew them. She rushed to the door and flung it wide.
And the next moment, fairly bouncing in, and looking as pink-faced, and
white-spatted, and dapper as ever, was none other than Mr. Perkins.
The dude had whipped his man.