THE GAMBLING DEBT


There was no time to be lost now. Down the steps again dashed
Garrick, after our expected failure both to get in peaceably and
to pass the ice-box door by force. This time Dillon emerged from
the cab with him. Together they were carrying the heavy apparatus
up the steps.

They set it down close to the door and I scrutinized it carefully.
It looked, at first sight, like a short stubby piece of iron,
about eighteen inches high. It must have weighed fifty or sixty
pounds. Along one side was a handle, and on the opposite side an
adjustable hook with a sharp, wide prong.

Garrick bent down and managed to wedge the hook into the little
space between the sill and the bottom of the ice-box door. Then he
began pumping on the handle, up and down, up and down, as hard as
he could.

Meanwhile the crowd that had begun to collect was getting larger.
Dillon went through the form of calling on them for aid, but the
call was met with laughter. A Tenderloin crowd has no use for
raids, except as a spectacle. Between us we held them back, while
Garrick worked. The crowd jeered.

It was the work of only a few seconds, however, before Garrick
changed the jeers to a hearty round of exclamations of surprise.
The door seemed to be lifted up, literally, until some of its