were undergoing unfavourable review.  Mr. Rawdon was too “hail fellow well met” with the loafers to offer any protest.  He joined in the laugh that greeted each new sally of vulgar abuse, and occasionally helped his neighbours on by such remarks as, “We musn’t be too ’ard on ’em, they hain’t used to such company as hus,” which was followed by a loud guffaw.  Wilkinson was playing badly, for he felt uncomfortable.  Coristine chewed his moustache and became red in the face.  The landlord looked calmly on.  At last the card players, having had their third drink since the game began, came over to the little table.  One of the roughest and worst-tongued of the three picked up a pile of dirty newspapers, looked at one of them for a moment, pshawed as if there was nothing in them, and threw the pile down with a twist of his hand fair on to the draft-board, sweeping it half off the table and all the cardboard men to the floor.  In a moment Coristine was up, and laid hold of the fellow by the shoulder.  Pale but resolute, the schoolmaster, who had done physical duty by unruly boys, stood beside him.  The working geologist and the landlord, Matt, looked on to see the fun of a fight between two city men and three country bullies.

“Get down there,” said Coristine to his man, trembling with indignation, “get down there, and pick up all these chessmen, or I’ll wring your neck for you.”  The fellow made a blow at him with his free hand, a blow that Coristine parried, and then the Irishman, letting go of his antagonist’s arm, gave him a sounding whack with all the might of his right fist, that sent him sprawling to the ground.

“Pile in on ’im, boys!” cried the prostrate ruffian, who had lost a tooth and bled freely at the nose.  The other two prepared to pile, when the schoolmaster faced one of them, and kept him off.  It is hard to say how matters would have gone, had not a tornado entered the bar room in the shape of Timotheus.  How he did it, no one could tell, but, in less than two minutes, the two standing bullies and the prostrate one were all outside the tavern door, which was locked behind them.  Peace once more reigned in the hotel, and it was in order for Matt and the Grinstun man to congratulate Coristine on his knock down blow.  He showed no desire for their commendation, but, with his friend, whom Timotheus helped to pick up the chessmen, retired to his room.  The Crew’s brother had disappeared before he had had a chance to thank him.

Before retiring for the night, the lawyer was determined to be upsides with Mr. Rawdon.  He asked his roomfellow if he had any writing materials, and was at once provided with paper, envelopes, and a fountain pen.