A right-handed jolt caught one of them flush on the jaw and he toppled over backwards without so much as a groan.  The other brought a fist heavily to Uncle John’s nose, bringing blood, but before he could repeat the blow, Uncle John had placed him hors de combat with a terrific left-handed punch to the abdomen.

Then the third man drew back and presented his revolver, but Uncle John sprang forward with a cry and before the man’s finger could press the trigger, Uncle John had seized him about the middle.  Raising him high in the air, he swung him to one side, and the man’s head struck the wall with a crunch even as the revolver exploded.

Uncle John dropped the limp body and surveyed the field.  His anger had departed and he was again a cool and self-possessed American gentleman of middle age.

“There’s that temper of mine again,” he said reprovingly to himself.  “Why, I might have killed somebody.  After all these years I should have it under control.  I guess I’ll be moving before some one makes me real mad.”

He stooped and picked up his hat, which had fallen on the floor, took one last look at his fallen foes, and opened the door and passed out.

Down the street he saw a solitary figure sitting upon the steps in front of a large stone house, and he walked in the other direction.

“I’ve had trouble enough for one night,” he told himself.  “Guess I will give that fellow a wide berth.”

And had he gone toward the seated figure he would have avoided more trouble for all concerned, and Hal and Chester would probably never have seen active service with the Italian army.  For the figure that caused Uncle John to turn his footsteps in the opposite direction was Chester, awaiting the return of Hal.

“Wonder why those young scalawags didn’t come back to help me?” mused Uncle John, as he walked along toward the hotel.  “I’ll tell them what I think of them for running away and leaving me to do all the fighting.”

Uncle John glanced at his watch.

“Great Scott!” he exclaimed.  “Twelve o’clock!  Why, it doesn’t seem fifteen minutes since we went in that house.  Guess Hal and Chester have returned to the hotel by this time.  What shall I tell the women folks?  They’ll wonder what a man of my age is prowling about the streets of Rome for at this hour of the night.”

He entered his hotel and made his way toward the elevator.  It descended, and as he would have entered, he bumped squarely into Mrs. Paine and Mrs. Crawford.

“John,” cried the latter, “where is Chester?”

“Where is Hal?” demanded Mrs. Paine anxiously.

“Why, they—­aren’t they—­they’ll be here in a few minutes,” stuttered Uncle John.

“Where are they?” demanded the two anxious mothers in a single voice.

“Now hold on here,” said Uncle John, regaining his composure with an effort.  “I’ll explain.  Hal and Chester are all right.  They’ll be here in a few minutes.”