The Italian recovered his balance and gathered himself for a spring.
"No you don't," shouted Rupert, and the three Englishmen simultaneously threw themselves in front of him, at the same time calling on the spectators to make a ring.
In a moment, headed by Tant-de-Soif, the Englishmen's friends commenced pulling chairs, tables and benches to the walls of the big room. Old Tant-de-Soif had never received a sou or a drink from the bully, though many and many a blow and bitter humiliation. Long he had served and long he had hated. He felt that a great hour had struck.
The scores and scores of willing hands assisting, the room was quickly cleared.
"This American would die, it appears, poor madman," observed M. Malvin ingratiatingly to Carmelita.
"I do not think he will die," replied the girl. "But I think that anyone who interferes with him will do so."
The eyes of the good M. Malvin narrowed. Lay the wind in that quarter? The excellent Luigi was found out, was he? Well, there might be a successor.…
Meantime the Italian had removed and methodically folded his tunic and canvas shirt. A broad belt sustained his baggy red breeches.
So it had come, had it? Well, so much the better. This American had been the fly in the ointment of his comfort too long. Why had he not strangled the insolent, or broken his back long ago? He would break him now, once and for all—maim him for life if he could; at least make a serious hospital case of him.
Bidding Malvin mount guard over his discarded
