tears in anybody's eyes after those merciless tweaks.
Finding his nose still attached, he struck out wildly with both fists, a blind fury possessing him. Even a coward will strike if you pull his nose severely enough. As Trotter remained motionless after the distressing act of Lord Temple, Stuyvesant missed him by a good yard and a half, but managed to connect solidly with the corner of the limousine, barking his knuckles, a circumstance which subsequently provided him with something to substantiate his claim to having planted a "good one" on the blighter's jaw.
His hat fell off and rolled still farther away from the redoubtable Trotter, luckily in the direction of the Smith-Parvis car. By the time Stuyvesant retrieved it, after making several clutches in his haste, he was, singularly enough, beyond the petrified figure of his mother.
"Call the police! Call the police!" Mrs. Smith-Parvis was whimpering. "Where are the police?"
Mrs. Millidew, the elder, cried out sharply: "Hush up! Don't be idiotic! Do you want to attract the police and a crowd and— What do you mean, Trotter, by attacking Mr. Smith-Par—"
"Get out of the way, mother," roared Stuyvesant. "Let me at him! Don't hold me! I'll break his infernal neck— Shut up!" His voice sank to a hoarse whisper. "We don't want the police. Shut up, I say! My God, don't make a scene!"
"Splendid!" cried Mrs. Millidew, the younger, enthusiastically, addressing herself to Trotter. "Perfectly splendid!"
Trotter, himself once more, calmly stepped to the
