"Much obliged," muttered Anthony feebly. Some one pushed his soft hat
down upon his head and he winced.
"Just sit still, buddy, and you'll feel better. Those guys sure give you
a bump."
"I'm going back and kill that dirty--" He tried to get to his feet but
collapsed backward against the wall.
"You can't do nothin' now," came the voice. "Get 'em some other time.
I'm tellin' you straight, ain't I? I'm helpin' you."
Anthony nodded.
"An' you better go home. You dropped a tooth to-night, buddy. You know
that?"
Anthony explored his mouth with his tongue, verifying the statement.
Then with an effort he raised his hand and located the gap.
"I'm agoin' to get you home, friend. Whereabouts do you live--"
"Oh, by God! By God!" interrupted Anthony, clenching his fists
passionately. "I'll show the dirty bunch. You help me show 'em and I'll
fix it with you. My grandfather's Adam Patch, of Tarrytown"--
"Who?"
"Adam Patch, by God!"
"You wanna go all the way to Tarrytown?"
"No."
"Well, you tell me where to go, friend, and I'll get a cab."
Anthony made out that his Samaritan was a short, broad-shouldered
individual, somewhat the worse for wear.
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