A poor devil in a waiter's costume
stretched out his arms to me, yelling in a foreign dialect: "You
take de food from my babies!" The next moment the club of a
policeman came down on his head, crack. I heard Mary scream behind
me, and I turned, just in the nick of time. Carpenter was leaping
toward the policeman, crying, "Stop!"
There was no chance to parley in this emergency. I grabbed Carpenter
in a foot-ball tackle. I got one arm pinned to his side, and Mary,
good old scout, got the other as quickly. She is a bit of an
athlete--has to keep in training for those hoochie-coochies and
things she does, when she wins the love of emperors and sultans and
such-like world-conquerors. Also, when we got hold of Carpenter, we
discovered that he wasn't much but skin and bones anyhow. We fairly
lifted him up and rushed him into the restaurant; and after the
first moment he stopped resisting, and let us lead him between the
aisles of diners, on the heels of the toddling T-S. There was a
table reserved, in an alcove, and we brought him to it, and then
waited to see what we had done.
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