CHAPTER XI.
When Tom Gordon comprehended that the two policemen had arrested him on the charge of stealing a gold watch, he understood the trick played upon him by the lad who had handed him the timepiece and then, darted into the alley.
Instead of throwing the property away, as a thief generally does under such circumstances, the young scamp preferred to get a stranger into difficulty.
"I didn't take the watch; that boy handed it"-- "Shet up!" broke in the burly officer.
"But let me finish what I want"-- "Shet up! Heavens and earth! have I got to kill you before you stop that clack of yours ?" The lad saw that the only way to save his crown was to keep quiet, and he did so, trusting that in some way or other the truth would become known, the guilty punished, and the innocent allowed to go free.
One policeman grasped his right and the other his left arm, and they held on like grim death as they marched off toward the station-house.
Turning the next corner, they entered a still lower part of the city, where the darkest crimes of humanity are perpetrated.
Within ten feet of where Tom was walking, he saw under the gas-lamp a poor wretch on the pavement, with two others pounding him.
"Murder! murder!" groaned the victim, with fast-failing strength, vainly struggling to free himself from his assassins.
Tom paused, expecting the policemen, or at least one of them, would rush in and save the man.
On the contrary, they strode along as if they were unconscious of the crime going on right before their eyes.
"They'll kill him," said the horrified boy, "why don't you stop"-- "Shet up!" and down came the club again.
Just then the second policeman added in a severe tone,-- "Young man, we know you; we understand the trick you are trying to play on us; you want us to let go of you and rush in there, and then you'll skip; we're too old birds to be caught with such chaff; we are convinced that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, and so, understand, sir, we'll hold on to you!" But at this juncture, fortunately for the under man, a champion appeared in the person of an Irishman, who with one blow knocked the largest of the assailants so violently backward that he turned a complete reverse somersault, and then lay still several minutes to try and understand things.
The other assailant was using his boot-heel on the prostrate man at that moment, when the Hibernian gave him a couple of blows in lightning-like succession.

They landed upon the face of the coward with a sensation about the same as if a well-shod mule had planted his two hind feet there.
He, too, collapsed on the instant, and for a considerable time lost all interest in worldly affairs.
It is hard work to kill a drunken man; and, despite the terrible beating the victim had suffered, he was scarcely relieved of his foes when he staggered to his feet.
"I'm obleeged to ye, young man, for assisting me, as ye did"-- "Dry up!" broke in the impatient Hibernian.
"Talk of being obleeged to me, 'cause I interfared.

What did ye let them git ye down fur?
That's what I want to know.

Git out wid yees!" And the disgusted champion turned the other fellow about and expressed his opinion of him by delivering a kick, which landed him several feet away.
"That was kind in yees," said the recipient, looking back with the droll humor of the Irish people.

"They did their hammering in front, while I resave yees in the rear, and I fale as though they was about equal." "What's this?
what's this ?" demanded one of the policemen in a brisk, business-like tone, swinging his locust, and looking sharply about him, as if in quest of some desperado upon whom to vent his wrath.
"It looks as if there was some trouble here." "It's all done with now," replied the man that had finished it, and then, recognizing the officer, he extended his hand.
"How are ye, Billy ?" "Hello, Pat, is that you ?" "So it is, me, Patsey McConough, that happened down this way on the lookout for a wee boy, when I saw two men beating one, and I jist restored the aquilibrium, as ye may say.