Clyde was intent on his errand. He sought to mollify the man, but as he began to speak the fellow became more violent. Despite a warning cry from one of his companions, he swung a quick blow at the reporter’s chin.
Clyde warded it aside. He thought quickly. A fight now would be unwise. The other men might side with their friend. At the same time, it was necessary to get away. As he parried the blow he made no effort to punch back. Instead he stepped back a pace, avoided a second swing, and started down the steps.
It was then that his opponent, angered at Clyde’s agility, threw himself forward.
Clyde could not avoid that plunge. He raised his hands in protection and lost his footing as he stepped backward. The weight of the man’s body landed upon him, and Clyde Burke was thrown headforemost down the steps. He felt a strange dizziness as he was hurtling downward; then his head struck against something and all was black.
He opened his eyes to see a group of faces peering at him. He recognized the features of the rowdy who had attacked him. This fellow, despite his tough appearance, seemed the most apprehensive member of the crowd.
“All right, buddy?” he asked.
Clyde nodded. Two other men propped him against the side of the wall. He noted that the cafe manager was present. That partly explained the change in his attacker’s attitude. Another reason was immediately put forward.
“You’re from the Classic, ain’t you?”
Clyde nodded again.
“Didn’t mean to hurt you. It was my fault, startin’ things,” came the apology. “You must ‘a’ tripped when I grabbed you. Wasn’t that what happened, boys?”