Page:Oriental Stories v01 n01 (1930-10).djvu/13

 "You lie!" he cried in a voice which rose almost to a shriek, almost beyond control. "And as sure as you're a dirty rat I'm going to make you admit it."

Bourse McGill stopped playing. For a moment he forgot that his mother was a lady. He swung lazily around on his stool. The incident promised to be interesting. He rolled a cigarette nonchalantly as though he were in a theater waiting for a show to begin. Lew's one eye stopped its roving, its mate forgotten. It focussed itself upon the scene. Every man in the place stopped talking. It was a breathless moment, although not an uncommon one in the sordid bar-room. There was not a single friendly face. Most of them were mask-like. The emotions lying underneath were unreadable. Dick realized that he was in a precarious position and yet he disliked the thought of groveling at the feet of Mr. Isaacs.

Mr. Isaacs kept the revolver leveled at him. His hand did not shake. It did not quiver.

"You detest me because I am a Jew."

It was the one sentence Dick needed. It was the spark that touched off the fuse of his anger. With an oath he sprang up, and seizing the chair on which he had been sitting he hurled it at the oil lamp less than a dozen feet away. The next moment there was a muffled roar and a sheet of flame shot from the lamp. In the confusion Dick sprang for the door. Lew barred his way. There was no time to lose. Dick's clenched fist shot out and successfully closed the weird remaining eye. Then he fought his way to the door. He walked over several prostrate bodies. Bourse McGill clutched at him but failed to get a hold. Mt; Isaacs was on his knees moaning and wailing like an idiot.

"Oh, my poor house," he shrieked, "my poor house! It is afire and it is not insured. Oh, my poor house!"

As Dick dashed past him he yelled, "I despise you not because you are a Jew but because you are a yellow thief!"

A great body loomed up before him. Dick seized a chair and crashed it down over the head of the black, shadowy form. Now he was in the street. He ran as if all the fiends of legend were after him but he was pursued only by a half-dozen or so of the less drunken patrons of Mr. Isaacs. These, however, increased as they pursued him, for almost every idler, and there seemed to be hundreds of them, joined in the hunt. A man-hunt is always far more interesting than any other kind. In the distance, far behind him, the sky glowed red as the fire gained headway in the box-like structure of the hotel. He quickened his pace. He dashed down a crooked winding alley to shake off the throng behind him. They kept up a continuous yelling that made pandemonium out of the peace of the night, an endless babble of shrieks and curses.

A sailor stepped into the center of the alley. Dick didn't know whether he was going to attempt to stop him or not, and he could not afford to take any chances; so he struck him on the chin and with a groan the sailor toppled over, not stunned but surprized at the suddenness of it. Dick continued on toward the waterfront. It seemed endless miles away. He crossed the bridge over the Singapore River. He was far in advance of the mob. It had grown enormously. There must have been hundreds, so many of them they got in one another's way. Once a huge Javanese fell and immediately a halfdozen piled up on top of him. It was a confusing chase because there was no leader. Scarcely anybody knew what the excitanent was all about. Of the original bunch that had started from the bar-room only, three remained and they made no effort to explain anything.