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Riis, Jacob A., 1849-1914

"The Making of an American"

It
was hardly three minutes' run to the station-house, but time never
dragged as it did then. Once I thought relief had come; but as
I listened and caught the wail of men being beaten in the street,
I smiled wickedly in the midst of my own troubles, for the voices
told me that my opponents from headquarters, following on my
track, had fallen among thieves: half the gang were then outside.
At last, just as an empty keg knocked my patient from his chair,
the doors fell in with a crash; the reserves had come. Their clubs
soon cleared the air and relieved me of my involuntary task, with
my patient yet alive.
Another time, turning a corner in the small hours of the morning,
I came suddenly upon a gang of drunken roughs ripe for mischief.
The leader had a long dirk-knife with which he playfully jabbed me
in the ribs, insolently demanding what I thought of it. I seized
him by the wrist with as calm a pretence of considering the knife
as I could summon up, but really to prevent his cutting me. I felt
the point pricking through my clothes.
"About two inches longer than the law allows," I said, sparring
for time.


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