Hal Overton had broken into a run, and Noll was almost at his side. The soldier boys pushed their way into the crowd.
A brutish, square-jawed young fellow of twenty-one or twenty-two, dressed loudly, and with an ill-smelling cigar between his teeth at one side of his mouth, held a sobbing girl by the wrist.
"Cut out the boo-hoo story, Lizzie, and come along with me to the dance," he ordered gruffly.
"I don't want to go," faltered the terrified girl. "You know well enough, Bill, that my mother don't want me going to dances with you."
"What's your old woman got against me?" demanded the young brute.
"You know well enough, Bill, that mother don't like you, and that she'd sooner see me dead than running around with you."
"She won't have her wish to-night, then, Liz. You're going to waltz with me. You know that wot I say goes, and it's the hop for yours to-night."
"Shame!" cried some one back in the crowd. "Let the girl go home."
"Mind your own biz," growled back the bully, "or I'll step over there and make some changes in yer style of face."
Evidently Bill was known as an ugly customer. Close to him, on the other side from the girl, stood another man, somewhat older and exhibiting the promise of even more brute strength. Plainly he stood by to back Bill up against interference that the crowd might want to attempt. The pair of bullies were such as a city crowd usually doesn't care to risk meddling with.