Jack kept on crying his papers, and his opponent, incensed at the
contemptuous disregard of his threats, advanced toward him, and, taking
Jack unawares, pushed him off the sidewalk with such violence that he
nearly fell flat. Jack felt that the time for action had arrived. He
dropped his papers temporarily on the sidewalk, and, lowering his head,
butted against his young enemy with such force as to double him up, and
seat him, gasping for breath, on the sidewalk. Tom Rafferty, for this
was his name, looked up in astonishment at the unexpected form of the
attack.

"Well done, my lad!" said a hearty voice.

Jack turned toward the speaker, and saw a stout man dressed in a blue
coat with brass buttons. He was dark and bronzed with exposure to the
weather, and there was something about him which plainly indicated the
sailor.

"Well done, my lad!" he repeated. "You know how to pay off your debts."

"I try to," said Jack, modestly. "But where's my papers?"

The papers, which he had dropped, had disappeared. One of the boys who
had seen the fracas had seized the opportunity to make off with them,
and poor Jack was in the position of a merchant who had lost his stock
in trade.

"Who took them papers?" he asked, looking about him.

"I saw a boy run off with them," said a bystander.