“Naughty, naughty Nobel!” he chided.  “Come out of that cab; you and I journey arm and arm into the purpling East.”

“Drive on,” cried Bergman, forcing Lorelei back into her seat, as she half rose.

Bob leaned through the open cab window, murmuring thickly:  “Nobel, you are drunk.  Shocked—­nay, grieved—­as I am at seeing you thus, I shall take you home.”

“Get out, will you?” snapped the manager, undertaking to slam the door.

But Wharton was in a declamatory mood and went on, swingingly:  “The sky is faintly flushed with pink; Apollo in his chariot draws nigh.  The morning-glory closes with the sun, Bergman, and if a fairy princess is late she will be shut out and forced to sleep on the petals of a rose.  My dear Nobel, don’t spoil her beauty sleep.”

“I’m tired of your insolence.  I’ll—­”

Bergman never finished his sentence, for in his rage he committed a grave blunder—­he struck wildly at the flushed face so close to his, and the next instant was jerked bodily out of his seat.  Lorelei uttered a cry of fright, for the whole side of the cab seemed to go with her employer.

There was a brief scuffle, a whirl of flying arms, then Bergman’s voice rose in a strangely muffled howl, followed by nasal curses.  With a bellow of anguish he suddenly ceased his struggles, and Lorelei saw that Bob was holding him by the nose.  It happened to be a large, unhandsome, and fleshy member, and, securely grasping it, Bergman’s conqueror held him at a painful and humiliating disadvantage.

Bob was panting, but he managed to say, “Come!  We will run for the lady—­once around the block.”

A muffled shriek of pain was the answer, but the street was empty save for some grinning chauffeurs, who offered no assistance.

“Be a good fellow.  I insist, my dear Nobel.  Advance!  Double quick!  Charge!”

The two men moved away haltingly, then at a zigzag trot, and finally at a slow run.  They disappeared around the corner, Bob Wharton leading, Bergman bent double and screaming poisonous oaths.

“Drive on, quickly,” Lorelei implored, but the chauffeur cranked his motor reluctantly, craning his neck in an evident desire to see more of this interesting affray.  His companions were laughing loudly and slapping their thighs.  Despite Lorelei’s hysterically repeated orders, he experienced difficulty in starting the machine; finally he lifted the hood and fumbled inside.  A moment passed, then another; he cranked once more, but as the motor was seized with a fit of shuddering the two white-fronted figures turned the upper corner and approached.  Their relative positions were unchanged.  The block was a short one, yet they seemed winded.  Bergman was sobbing now like a woman, and he was followed by three curious newsboys.

Bob paused at the starting-point and wheezed:  “Bravo!  You done noble, Nobel.  We’ve learned some new steps, too, eh?” All power of resistance had left the victim, who seemed upon the verge of collapse.  “I say we’ve learned some new steps; haven’t we, Bergy?” He tweaked the distorted member in his grasp, and Bergman’s head wagged loosely.