young tough with an infuriated face reeling
in a run around the corner ahead of
us as though he were being pursued.
Now we have a volunteer police guard
some forty strong at the Gap--and from
habit, I started for him, but the Blight
caught my arm tight. The young
engineer in three strides had reached the
curb-stone and all he sternly said was:

``Here! Here!''

The drunken youth wheeled and his
right hand shot toward his hip pocket.
The engineer was belted with a pistol, but
with one lightning movement and an
incredibly long reach, his right fist caught
the fellow's jaw so that he pitched
backward and collapsed like an empty bag.
Then the engineer caught sight of the
Blight's bewildered face, flushed, gripped
his hands in front of him and simply
stared. At last he saw me:

``Oh,'' he said, ``how do you do?''
and he turned to his prisoner, but the
panting sergeant and another policeman--
also a volunteer--were already lifting him
to his feet. I introduced the boy and the
Blight then, and for the first time in my