Billy took a quick step forward and touched the man on the arm.  “Let this lady pass, please,” he said.

The German confronted him with blood-shot blue eyes that ceased to smile and clearly welcomed the belligerency.

“Gott!  Who are you?” he derided.  “Get out—­get out the way.”

“Get out yourself,” said Billy, and stepping in front of the fellow he extended a rigid arm, leaving a passage for the girl behind him.

“Oh, thank you,” he heard her say, and as he half turned his head at the grateful murmur he felt a sudden staggering blow on the side of his face.  He whirled about, on guard, and as the man struck again, lunging heavily in his intoxication, Billy knocked up the fist as it came.

“You silly fool!” he said impatiently, and as the man made a blind rush upon him he caught him and by main force flung him off, but his own foot struck something slippery and he lurched and went down, with a wave of intense disgust, into the dirt of the bazaars.  He heard a chorus of cries and imprecations about him; he jumped up instantly, looking for his assailant, but the German was clinging to the front of the jewelry booth.  “Meet you—­satisfaction—­honor,” he was saying stupidly.

A native policeman elbowed his way through the throng, urging some Arabic question upon Billy, who caught its import and replied with the few sentences of reassurance at his command, pointing to the banana peel as the cause of all.  A fat dragoman had suddenly appeared from nowhere and was hurriedly attempting to lead away the intoxicated one.

“You in charge of him?  Take him to his hotel and throw him in the tub,” said Billy curtly, and the dragoman replied with profound respect that he would do even as the heaven-born commanded.

Brushing off his clothes Billy shouldered his way out of the throng and was met by two bright and grateful eyes and a slim, bare, outstretched hand.

“Thank you so much—­I am so sorry,” said the musical voice.

“You shouldn’t have waited,” said Billy, with a prompt pressure of the friendly little hand.  “It might have been a real row.”

“I couldn’t run away,” she said in serious protest at such ingratitude.  “I had to see what happened to you.  And I am so sorry about your clothes.”

“Not hurt a particle—­I chose a fortunate place to drop,” he returned lightly, but distinctly chagrined that he had dropped.

“It was so fine of you,” she answered, “just to parry him like that—­when he’d been drinking.  I saw what you did.”  And then she added, very matter-of-factly, “And I’m afraid your nose is bleeding, too.”

Billy put up a startled hand.  In the general soreness he had not noticed that warm trickle.  His whole face turned as scarlet as the shameless blood.  Frantically he rummaged with the other hand.

The girl thrust a square of white linen upon him.  “Please take mine—­it will ruin your clothes if it gets on them.”