Whence had the knife leapt, to gleam so viciously in his hand? Almost as
swiftly as it was drawn, the healer had snatched one of the heavy
torch-poles from its socket. Almost, not quite. The fury leapt and
struck; struck for that shining waistcoat, upon which his regard had
concentrated, with an upward lunge, the most surely deadly blow known to
the knife-fighter. Two other movements coincided, to the instant. From
the curtain of cheesecloth the slight form of a boy shot upward, with
brandished arms; and the square-built man reached the Hardscrabbler's
jaw with a powerful and accurate swing. There was a scream of pain, a
roar from the crowd, and an answering bellow from the quack in midair,
for he had launched his formidable bulk over the rail, to plunge, a
crushing weight, upon the would-be murderer, who lay stunned on the
grass. For a moment the avenger ground him, with knees and fists; then
was up and back on the platform. Already the city man had gained the
flooring, and was bending above the child. There was a sprinkle of blood
on the bright, rough boards.

"Oh, my God! Boy-ee! Has he killed you?"

"No: he isn't killed," said the stranger curtly. "Keep the people back.
Lift down that torch."

The Professor wavered on his legs, grasping at the rail for support.

"You _are_ a doctor?" he gasped.

"Yes."

"Can you save him? Any money--"