The Argosy, Vol. 81, No. 4 — page 128: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

694 ficiently deep to stun him. It served merely to enhance his rage. His counter-stroke would have killed the man had it landed, as aimed, upon Appon- netti’s head. But Lansing was pushed for- ward as he struck and the statue lodged in the pit of the count’s stomach, sending him so promptly to the land of dreams that it is possible the man never knew what hit him. At all events he draped himself pictur- esquely across the recumbent body of his compatriot, Rimini. Lansing now felt a blunt instrument de- scend upon his neck and knew from the warm trickle under his collar that blood had been drawn. But his fighting spirit was not affected. One of the men gripped his shoulder with a pair of huge paws and Lansing, using his statue as a battering ram, sent him reeling away. But he came back, cursing. A knife whizzed under Lansing’s nose and took a strip out of his collar. At close quarters he knew he was bound to succumb at any moment. He realized that he must put distance between himself and his three antagonists. So he backed away, swinging fiercely at any one of the trio who dared approach within the circle of his sweep. As he neared the table again he stumbled and reeled over the end of a rug. To re- gain his balance he was obliged to present his back to the foe, and an exulting cry showed that his opponents appreciated the advantage which the accident had given them. Lansing’s brain worked swiftly. If he turned he would be at the mercy of the men. He had nothing to do but to stumble on. He cleared the table by a dive—as close a reproduction of one of his old diving tackles against a Princeton runner as could be imagined. This brought his fingers against the window casement. With his Discobolus he smashed out the glass that remained and plunged through to the fire- escape beyond. When his pursuers reached the window he was already on his way down the ladder, sending upward a mocking laugh. In another few seconds he had landed in a side street. Running around to the front of the apartment he was rejoiced to find his faithful Jehu still on watch, the motor panting beneath him. He climbed in and settled languidly back upon the seat. “Home, driver,”’ he murmured. As the cab jolted over the pavement THE ARGOSY. Lansing found himself settled in a strange lethargy, as though nerves and muscles and brain had utterly relaxed, as indeed they had. His one thought was of his apart- ment, a hot and cold bath and bed. The night watchman and elevator boy greeted his appearance with surprise and sympathy, thinking he had joined some of the young bloods of the city who delight in making trouble for all-night restaurant keepers, and that he had emerged the worse for his experience. Lansing answered them briefly and hur- ried to his rooms. His man was waiting for him and being well trained, gave vent to no expression of surprise or concern re- garding his master’s disheveled condition. “Scotty,” said Lansing, with a faint smile, “your former master, Lord Ainsmith, was a patron of the prize ring, wasn’t he?” “He was, sur,” burred the man. was very fond o’ th’ fawncy, sur.” ‘“Yes,’’ nodded Lansing. ‘‘Well, as you see, Scotty, I’ve been milling a bit myself to-night. Do you know what’ll make this cheekbone look respectable—and by the bye, have a peep at my neck here, will you?” The man inspected his master, clucking his sympathy. ‘“‘My word, but they were fairish clips, sur. Were they not brass knuckles? A fist don’t make no such wound on a throat.” “Brass something,” replied Lansing. “Get my bath ready, hot fresh soup, and you migh: see if you can’t think up some way of improving my appearance to-mor- row.” “T’ve got some bottles of Elliman I brought from the old country,” the man re- turned. “I’ve found it very good, sur.” “Good enough.” Lansing began to re- move the remains of his blood-stained shirt. “I’m in your hands, Scotty. Oh, say, I am not in-to any one, provided there should be a call on the phone. “Very good, sur.” The servant hurried into the bath-room, and then went on to his own room, whence he issued shortly bearing bottles of liniment and salve. Lansing found several bruises upon his body, but was pleased to discover that the cut on his neck, while painful, was not to be regarded as dangerous in its results, and that the abrasion on his cheek was serious only as it disfigured him. He had emerged from football contests in far worse condi- tion. “He COPMICLOOOKS (C@)