The man who had spoken first went down like a log. He was a red-headed creature, with a rasping voice and an aggressive manner, evidently one of those who bullied his way through the world, for want of a bold spirit to stand up to him. In this instance he found his match, for the handsome face of the young fellow he insulted was sternly set and considerably flushed. After the war of words came the blow from the bully. His fist passed harmlessly by the head of this antagonist, and a well-delivered return blow caught him fairly on the jaw. Then red-head lay down to consider the lesson he had been taught. "You confounded scoundrel!" said the other, standing over him. "You may be thankful that I don't wring your neck. You're no good in the world that I can see, and would be better out of it." "Guess you'd like to send him on the journey into Kingdom Come?" suggested a weather-beaten little man near at hand, who looked like a sailor. "I just would," said the young man, panting. "What does the ruffian mean by making me a target for his brutal wit? He'd leave the world fast enough if I had my way. Lie still!" This to red-head, who was rising. But the prostrate man did not obey the injunction, having some fight left in him yet. He scrambled to his feet, and rushed with a lowered head at his enemy like a bull. But the other was ready. He skipped aside, and the red-head met the wood of the counter with a sickening thud. This time he dropped insensible. The sailor man knelt beside the defeated. "I guess you'd better skip, Lancaster," said he. "You've done it this time. An' the police are coming." It was not the police, but the attendants, who forced their way through the crowd in the bar. Seeing this, Lancaster's friend, by name Dicky Baird, and by profession an idler of the West End, seized his chum's arm and dragged him out of the bar by main force.