"Stop him!"
"Grab him by the coat-tails!"
"Shoot him!"
"Head him off!"
And half of the party started after him at an express-train rate. There was some very fine running indeed. Culkins was brought to a sudden stop against a tall board fence, but he sprang back and cleared it like an English hunter, and tore like a lunatic for the city. Half an hour later the party might have been seen, if it hadn't been so pesky dark, groping blindly around the office in which Culkins had been a student at law.
"Are you here, Culkins?" said one.
"Before Culkins answers that," said a smothered voice in the little room, "tell me who yez are."
"Friends—your seconds!"
"Gintlemin, Culkins is here. The last of the Culkinses is under the bed."
He was dragged out.