up in front of his head; and an intolerable pain shot
up through his shoulder and flared, blindingly, in
his eyes. It pierced his indifference, set in motion
his reason, his memory; he realized the necessity, the
danger, of his predicament... the money! -- he
must guard it, take it back with him. Above, in a
heated, orange mist, the woman's face loomed blank
and inhuman; farther back Mr. Ottinger's features
were indistinctly visible.

He must rise...

His groping hand caught hold of the rung of
the chair, and, with herculean labor, he turned and
raised himself a fraction from the floor. Jake directed
a hasty blow at his head that missed him altogether.
His other hand caught the chair, and he
dragged himself dizzily into a kneeling posture. A
sudden change swept over the three above him.

"Nail him where he is!" Em cried excitedly;
"he's getting up on you." Gordon's hands moved
uncertainly upward on the chair; his knees rose from
the floor. A shower of blows fell on him; the
woman beat him with her pudgy fists; Mr. Ottinger
was kicking at him; Jake was weeping, and endeavoring
to get room in which to swing his club.

Gordon had one foot on the floor.

"Give me a chance at him," Jake implored; "give
me a chance. God, if I had a knife."

If they took away the chair, Gordon knew, he was

[[67]]

p066 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p067w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p068

v?