Before he could finish the sentence Charlton had struck him one savage blow full in the face, and sent him staggering back against the side of the house, but he saved himself from falling by seizing the window-frame, and immediately drew his Deringer.  Charlton, who was not very strong, but who had a quick, lightning-like activity, knocked him down, seized his pistol, and threw it into the street.  This time Charlton fell on him in a thoroughly murderous mood, and would perhaps have beaten and choked him to death in the frenzy of his long pent-up passion, for notwithstanding Westcott’s struggles Albert had the advantage.  He was sober, active, and angry enough to be ruthless.  Westcott’s friends interfered, but that lively gentleman’s eyes and nose were sadly disfigured by the pummeling he had received, and Charlton was badly scratched and bruised.

Whatever hesitancy had kept Albert from talking to Katy about Smith Westcott was all gone now, and he went home to denounce him bitterly.  One may be sure that the muddled remarks of Mr. Westcott about Katy—­of which even he had grace to be a little ashamed when he was sober—­were not softened in the repetition which Albert gave them at home.  Even Mrs. Plausaby forgot her attire long enough to express her indignation, and as for Miss Marlay, she combined with Albert in a bayonet-charge on poor Katy.

Plausaby had always made it a rule not to fight a current.  Wait till the tide turns, he used to say, and row with the stream when it flows your way.  So now he, too, denounced Westcott, and Katy was fairly borne off her feet for a while by the influences about her.  In truth, Katy was not without her own private and personal indignation against Westcott.  Not because he had spoken of her as a fool.  That hurt her feelings, but did not anger her much.  She was not in the habit of getting angry on her own account.  But when she saw three frightful scratches and a black bruise on the face of Brother Albert, she could not help thinking that Smith had acted badly.  And then to draw a pistol, too!  To threaten to kill her own dear, dear brother!  She couldn’t ever forgive him, she said.  If she had seen the much more serious damage which poor, dear, dear Smith had suffered at the tender hands of her dear, dear brother, I doubt not she would have had an equally strong indignation against Albert.

For Westcott’s face was in mourning, and the Privileged Infant had lost his cheerfulness.  He did not giggle for ten days.  He did not swear “by George” once.  He did not he! he!  The joyful keys and the cheerful ten-cent coins lay in his pocket with no loving hand to rattle them.  He did not indulge in double-shuffles.  He sang no high-toned negro-minstrel songs.  He smoked steadily and solemnly, and he drank steadily and solemnly.  His two clerks were made to tremble.  They forgot Smith’s bruised nose and swollen eye in fearing his awful temper.  All the swearing he wanted to do and dared not do at Albert, he did at his inoffensive subordinates.