of his supporters. The great Luigi was alive and on his throne again. The Greek passed him a mug of water.
"Yes, wait but a moment, and then just hand him to me…. One of you might go over to the hospital and say a bed will be wanted shortly," he added. "And another of you might look up old Jules Latour down at the cemetery and tell him to start another grave."
"You're coming to me, for a change, Rivoli," cut in Rupert contemptuously. "You're going to fight me down below. There's going to be a ring, and fair play. Will you come now, or will you wait till to-morrow? I can wait if you feel shaken."
"Plug the ugly skunk while he's rattled, Bub," advised the American, and turning to the Italian added, "Sure thing, Loojey. Ef yew ain't hed enuff yew kin tote downstairs and hev' a five-bunch frame-up with the b'y. Ef yew start rough-housin' up hyar, I'll take a hand too. I would anyhaow, only the b'y wants yew all to himself…. Greedy young punk."
"I will kill him and eat him now," said the Italian rising magnificently. Apparently his splendid constitution and physique had triumphed completely, and it was as though the blow had not been struck.
"Come on, b'ys," yelped the American, "an' ef thet Dago don't fight as square as he knows haow, I'll pull his lower jaw off his face."
In a moment the room was empty, except for Mikhail Kyrilovitch, who sat on the edge of his brother's bed and shuddered.
Clattering down the stairs and gathering numbers as it went, the party made for the broad space, or passage, between high walls
