LITMIR.BIZ

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      "Y-e-s," said Roll, glancing around, and then motioning for the barkeeper to lead the way.

      He was taken into a back room and shown a flight of stairs.

      "Knock at the door at the head of the flight," instructed the barkeeper, and after giving the man some money Ditson went up the stairs.

      "Come in!" called a harsh voice when he knocked at the door.

      Ditson found Kelley sitting with his feet on a table, while he smoked a strong-smelling cigar. There were illustrated sporting papers on the table, crumpled and ragged.

      "Well, young feller, watcher want?" demanded the man, withont removing his feet from the table or his hat from his head.

      Ditson closed the door. He was very pale and somewhat agitated.

      "Are we all alone?" he asked, choking a bit over the question.

      "Dat's wot we are," nodded the professor.

      "Is it a sure thing that our conversation cannot be overheard?"

      "Dead sure."

      Ditson hesitated. He seemed to find it difficult to express himself just as he desired.

      "Speak right out, chummy," said Kelley in a manner intended to be reassuring. "I rudder t'inks yer wants ter lick some cove, an' yer've come ter me ter put yer in shape ter do der job. Well, you bet yer dough I'm der man ter do dat. How many lessons will yer have?"

      "It is not that at all," declared Roll.

      "Not dat?" cried Kelley in surprise. "Den wot do youse want?"

      "Well, you see, it is like this—er, like this," faltered Roland. "I—I've got an enemy."

      "Well, ain't dat wot I said?"

      "But I don't want to fight him."

      "Oh, I sees! Yer wants some odder chap ter do de trick?"

      "Yes, that is it. But I want them to more than lick him."

      "More dan lick him? W'y, yer don't want him killed, does yer?"

      "No," answered Ditson, hoarsely; "but I want his right arm broken."

      "Hey?"

      Down came Buster Kelley's feet from the table, upon which his knuckles fell, and then he arose from the chair, standing in a crouching position, with his hands resting on the table, across which he glared at Roland Ditson.

      "Hey?" he squawked. "Just say dat ag'in, cully."

      Roll was startled, and looked as if he longed to take to his heels and get away as quickly as possible; but he did not run, and he forced himself to say:

      "This is a case of business, professor. I will pay liberally to have the job done as I want it."

      "An' youse wants a bloke's arm bruck?"

      "Yes."

      "Well, dis is a quare deal! If yer wanted his head bruck it wouldn't s'prise me; but ter want his arm bruck—jee!"

      "I don't care if he gets a rap on the head at the same time, but I don't want him killed. I want his right arm broken, and that is the job I am ready to pay for."

      Kelley straightened up somewhat, placed one hand on his hip, while the other rested on the table, crossed his legs, and regarded Ditson steadily with a stare that made Roll very nervous.

      "I might 'a' knowed yer didn't want ter fight him yerself," the professor finally said, and Ditson did not fail to detect the contempt in his face and voice.

      "No, I do not," declared Ditson, an angry flush coming to his face. "He is a scrapper, and I do not think I am his match in a brutal fight."

      "Brutal is good! An' yer wants his arm bruck? Don't propose to give him no show at all, eh?"

      "I don't care a continental what is done so long as he is fixed as I ask."

      "I s'pose ye're one of them stujent fellers?"

      "Yes, I am a student."

      "An' t'other feller is a stujent?"

      "Yes."

      "Dem fellers is easy."

      "Then you will do the job for me, will you?"

      "Naw!" snorted Kelley. "Not on yer nacheral! Wot d'yer take me fer? I don't do notting of dat kind. I've got a repertation to sustain, I has."

      Ditson looked disappointed.

      "I am willing to pay well to have the job done," he sad.

      "Well, yer can find somebody ter do it fer yer."

      "But I don't know where to find anybody, professor."

      Kelley sat down, relighted his cigar, restored his feet to the table, picked up a paper, seemed about to resume reading, and then observed:

      "Dis is no infermation bureau, but I s'pose I might put yer onter a cove dat'd do der trick fer yer if yuse come down heavy wid der stuff."

      "If you will I shall be ever so much obliged."

      "Much erbliged don't but no whiskey. Money talks, me boy."

      Ditson reached into his pocket and produced some money.

      "I will give you five dollars to tell me of a man who will do the job for me," he said, pulling a five-dollar bill from the roll.

      "Make it ten an' I goes yer," said Kelley, promptly.

      "Done. Here is your money."

      Ditson handed it over.

      "I'd oughter made it twenty," grumbled the pugilist. "Dis business is outer my line entirely, an' I don't want ter be mixed up in it at all—see? I has a repertation ter sustain, an' it wouldn't do fer nobody ter know I ever hed anyt'ing ter do wid such a job as dis."

      "There is no danger that anybody will ever know it," declared Ditson, impatiently. "I will not say anything about it."

      "Well, yer wants ter see dat yer don't. If yer do, I'll hunt yer up meself, an' I won't do a t'ing ter youse—not a t'ing!"

      "Save your threats and come to business. I am impatient to get away, as I do not care to be seen here by anybody who may drop in."

      "Don't care ter be seen here! I like dat—nit! Better men dan youse has been here, an' don't yer fergit dat!"

      "Oh, I don't care who has been here! You have the money. Now tell me where I can find the man I want."

      "D'yer know Plug Kirby?"

      "No."

      "Well, he is der feller yer wants."

      "Where can I find him?"

      "I'll give yer his address."

      Kelley took a stub of a pencil out of his vest pocket and wrote with great labor on the margin of one of the papers. This writing he tore off and handed to Ditson. Then, without another word, he once more restored his feet to the top of the table and resumed reading as if there was no one in the room.

      Ditson went out without a word. When he was gone Kelley looked over the top of the paper toward the door and growled:

      "Dat feller's no good! If he'd wanted ter fit der odder feller hisself I'd tole him how ter bruck der odder chap's wrist, but he ain't got der sand ter fight a baby. He makes me sad! I'd like ter t'ump him a soaker on de jaw meself."

      That evening Frank went out to call on some friends. He was returning to his rooms between ten and eleven, when, as he came to a dark corner, a man suddenly stepped out and said:

      "Give us a light, young feller."

      "I have none," said Frank, attempting to pass.

      "Den give us a match," demanded the man, blocking the road.

      "As I do not smoke I never carry matches."

      "Well,

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