Jimmy shrugged his shoulders and grinned.

"Shouldn't I wait to see if I can't do something more for Mr. Murray?"

he suggested.

"You get out of here!" cried Feinheimer "Get out of here or I'll call

the police."

Jimmy laughed and took off his apron as he walked back to the servants'

coat-room. As he emerged again and crossed through, the dining-room he

saw that Murray had regained consciousness and was sitting at a table

wiping the blood from his face with a wet napkin. As Murray's eyes fell

upon his late antagonist he half rose from his chair and shook his fist

at Jimmy.

"I'll get you for this, young feller!" he yelled. "I'll get you yet,

and don't you forget it."

"You just had me," Jimmy called back; "but it didn't seem to make you

very happy."

He could still hear Murray fuming and cursing as he passed out into the

barroom, at the front of which was Feinheimer's office.

CHAPTER XII.

UP OR DOWN?

After Jimmy had received his check and was about to leave, a couple of

men approached him.

"We seen that little mix-up in there," said one of them. "You handle

your mitts like you been there before."

"Yes," said Jimmy, smiling, "I've had a little experience in the manly

art of self-defense."

The two men were sizing him up.

"Feinheimer can you?" asked one of them. Jimmy nodded affirmatively.

"Got anything else in view?"

"No," said Jimmy.

"How'd you like a job as one of Brophy's sparring partners?"

"I wouldn't mind," said Jimmy. "What is there in it?"

They named a figure that was entirely satisfactory to Jimmy.

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