shade of brown which takes the tint of dull copper in certain lights,
and he had a temper which went with the red in his hair rather than
with the gray in his eyes. Wherefore his attempt to placate his
assailant was something less than diplomatic.

"You drunken scoundrel!" he snapped. "If you don't go about your
business and let me alone, I'll turn you over to the police with a
broken bone or two!"

The bully's answer was a blow delivered straight from the shoulder--too
straight to harmonize with the fiction of drunkenness. Winton saw the
sober purpose in it and went battle-mad, as a hasty man will. Being a
skilful boxer,--which his antagonist was not,--he did what he had to
do neatly and with commendable despatch. Down, up; down, up; down a
third time, and then the bystanders interfered.

"Hold on!"

"That'll do!"

"Don't you see he's drunk?"

"Enough's as good as a feast--let him go."

Winton's blood was up, but he desisted, breathing threatenings.
Whereat Biggin shouldered his way into the circle.

"Pay your bill and let's hike out o' this, _pronto_!" he said in a low
tone. "You ain't got no time to fool with a Carbonate justice shop."