“And now,” said Ravenslee, rising, “after you, Mr. Flowers!  Let us by all means step outside, where we will each earnestly endeavour to pitch the other down-stairs—­personally, I shall do my very damnedest, for really I don’t—­no, I do not like you, Mr. Flowers; you need some one to tread on you a little.  Step outside and let me try.”

While M’Ginnis stared from his swelling, bloody wrists to Ravenslee’s face—­a face quite as fierce and determined as his own—­steps were heard and Spike’s voice called: 

“Hermy come in yet, Geoff?”

“Not yet—­but our friend Mr. Flowers has dropped in—­socially, I fancy.”

“Mr. Who?” enquired Spike at the door, but beholding M’Ginnis’s angry face, he paused there, staring aghast.  “Why—­hello, Bud!” said he nervously.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’ much—­yet, Kid, only it’s kinder lucky for this guy as you happened in.  Who is he?  What’s he doin’ here?”

“He’s only a friend o’ mine, Bud, an’ he’s all right, ‘n’ say—­”

“Tell him t’ beat it.”

“But y’see, Bud—­”

“Tell him as we don’t want his kind around here or—­”

“Spike, did you bring in the butter?” enquired Ravenslee, serenely unconscious of M’Ginnis.

“Yes, here it is, Geoff—­but say—­”

“It doesn’t feel much,” said Ravenslee, weighing the package in his hand.

“It’s half a pound.  But say, here’s Bud; he says you’re to—­”

“My, Spike, I’ll trouble you for the butter-dish—­thanks!” and turning away, Ravenslee busied himself at the table, whistling softly the while.

“But, Geoff, this is Bud!” cried the lad, glancing from one to the other in an agony of suspense.  “Oh, don’ ye know dis is Bud M’Ginnis?”

“Ah, still here, is he?” said Ravenslee, without looking round.

“See here, Kid,” growled M’Ginnis, “you tell your—­friend t’ clear out an’ t’ do it real quick, see?  You tell him if he ain’t out in two minutes, I’ll run him out meself—­”

“Spike, this butter is nearly oil.”

“Oh, Geoff,” groaned the boy, “you’ve got t’ go—­here’s Bud—­”

“Why, then, Spike, tell him to—­er—­chase himself; I’m busy!” Came the sound of a chair set roughly aside and a shrill cry from Spike:  “My God, Bud—­don’t!  Look out, Geoff!”

But, as M’Ginnis came, Ravenslee turned swiftly, ducked the expected blow, and swinging his fist up beneath his assailant’s extended arm, smote him hard and true upon the elbow; and Spike, pale and wide of eye, saw that arm fall and dangle helplessly at M’Ginnis’ side, while his face was contorted with sharp agony.

“My God, Geoff!  What you done t’ him?”

“Pins and needles, Spike—­that’s all.  A hoary old trick, but useful now and then.  Mr. Flowers isn’t so very wide-awake as folks seem to think.  You see, it wouldn’t have done to knock him out here; he might have upset the table.”

“Knock out Bud!” cried Spike, aghast.  “But there ain’t nobody can lick Bud M’Ginnis!”