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He felt the groaning patient
over, punched him here and there, looked surprised, and felt again.
Then he winked one eye at the captain and me.
"Jones," he said, "get up! There is nothing the matter with you.
Go and get sober."
The beats stood speechless.
"He came right through this window," they began. "We saw him--"
"Something has come through the window, evidently," said the captain,
with asperity, "and broken it. Who is to pay for it? If you say
it was Jones, it is my duty to hold you as witnesses, if Mr. Riis
makes a charge of disorderly conduct against him, as I suppose he
will." He trod hard on my toe. "A man cannot jump through another
man's window like that. Here, let me--"
But they were gone. I never heard from them again. But ever after
the reputation clung to me of being a terrible fighter when roused.
Jones swore to it, drunk or sober. Twenty witnesses backed him up.
I was able to discharge Pat that week. There was never an ill word
in my street after that. I suppose my renown as a scrapper survives
yet in the old ward.


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