I could see that the curtain was down and the performance stopped; that many people had risen in their places and apparently were calling for the assistance of the police, and that from the number of liveries in the mêlée the management were taking the rioters seriously in hand. In another moment two or three of these officials broke loose and bore down upon me with a shout of “That's 'im!”
“Bolt, Juggins!” cried Mr. Scarlett. “We'll give you a start.”
The two intrepid gentlemen placed themselves between me and my pursuers. I stood my ground for a minute, but seeing that nothing could withstand the onset of my foes, and that Mr. White was already on the floor, I turned and fled. The chase was hot. I dashed down a flight of stairs, and then, by a happy chance, saw a door marked “private.” Through it I ran and was making my way I knew not whither, but certainly in forbidden territory, when I was confronted by an agitated stranger. I stopped, and would have raised my hat had it not been so tightly jammed upon my head.
The man looked at me for a moment, and then seemed to think he recognized my face.
