What had
started as a joke had now become real with Pat; and the frenzy of his
own madness quickly spread to those daring spirits who were about him
and who disliked Stephen for his strength of character.
They clinched, and Stephen, fresh from his father's remote Western farm,
matched his mighty, untaught strength against the trained bully of a
city street.
For a moment there was dead silence while the crowd in breathless
astonishment watched and held in check their own eagerness. Then the mob
spirit broke forth as some one called out:
"Pray for a miracle, Stevie! Pray for a miracle! You'll need it, old
boy!"
The mad spirit which had incited them to the reckless fray broke forth
anew and a medley of shouts arose.
"Jump in, boys! Now's the time!"
"Give him a cowardly egg or two--the kind that hits and runs!"
"Teach him that we will be obeyed!"
The latter came as a sort of chant, and was reiterated at intervals
through the pandemonium of sound.
The fight raged on for minutes more, and still Stephen stood with his
back against the wall, fighting, gasping, struggling, but bravely facing
them all; a disheveled object with rotten eggs streaming from his face
and hair, his clothes plastered with offensive yolks. Pat had him by the
throat, but still he stood and fought as best he could.
Some one seized the bucket of water and deluged both. Some one else
shouted, "Get the hose!" and more fellows tore off their coats and threw
them down at Courtland's feet; some one tore Pat away, and the great
fire-hose was turned upon the victim.
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