"You don't know him, Fred," said the one who had appropriated the ten-dollar bill. "He's only a telegraph boy."
"I tell you he's my frien', Frank Kav'nagh," persisted Fred, with an obstinacy not unusual in one in his condition.
"Well, if he is, let him sit down, and have a glass of something hot."
"No, I thank you," said Frank, coldly. "Fred and I are going home."
"No, you're not," exclaimed the other, bringing his fist heavily down upon the table. "We won't allow our friend Fred to be kidnapped by a boy of your size,—not much we won't, will we, boys?"
"No! no!" chimed in the other two.
Fred Vivian looked at them undecided.
"I guess I'd better go," he stammered "There's something the matter with my head."
"You need another drink to brace you up. Here, John, bring up another punch for Fred."
Frank saw that unless he got Fred away before drinking any more, he would not be in a condition to go at all. It was a critical position, but he saw that he must be bold and resolute.