he must have entered. Springing to the window, he smashed it
with a kick, and was in the act of crawling through and dropping
to the ground outside, when Tom flung himself upon him and dragged
him back into the room. Fear of cutting himself on the broken
glass evidently made the scoundrel yield more readily than he
would otherwise have done. As it was, he put up a game fight,
notwithstanding that Ralph, forgetting his ankle, joined in the
fray.

The three rolled over and over in a confused heap. Tom felt a
stinging blow on the side of his head, which made scores of stars
dance before him in the darkness, but he never relaxed his grip
on the man's collar. Ralph, too, was pounded and battered and
choked by a powerful hand at his throat. Suddenly there was an
audible rip, something gave way in Tom's hands, and the man, hurling
the two lads from him with a frantic lunge, got to his feet and
dashed out through the kitchen. Before Ralph and Tom could recover
themselves, they heard him running down the road, just outside
the window, at full speed.

"Great Scott! he's gone! he got away from us!" ejaculated Tom,
in disgust. "Where are you, Ralph? Where's a light, a match?"

"Here I am!" Ralph answered, scrambling to his feet. "What on
earth has Art been doing all this time? Didn't he hear the rumpus?"

"You bet I did!" exclaimed Arthur, coming into the room. "I
heard your yells, and I ran downstairs after Tom, but---but I
stumbled into the parlor, thinking the fight was in there. Then
I heard one of these dining-room chairs being knocked over, and