The object of their hostile intentions threw a hurried glance around him and, realizing the futility of attempting to break through the ranks of his enemies, gave an exclamation of despair. Escape seemed impossible, yet surrender was not to be thought of, for the fate in store for him at their hands was only too plainly evidenced by their demeanor. Turning, he ran up the steps of the house immediately behind him and tried the door. It was locked and made of material far too tough and seasoned to yield to the impact of his weight, as he found when he had hurled himself with crushing force against it.
Meanwhile the mob had almost reached the steps which at their highest point attained an altitude of about eight feet. If he ran down to the street it would be only to rush into their clutches; unarmed as he was he could not long successfully defend the stairs; then what could he do?
"Watch!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. "Watch! Watch to the rescue! Murder! Watch! Help!"
The united force of his pursuers halted in front of the house where he had vainly endeavored to secure an entrance. The game was trapped and their plan had met with success quite unqualified, unless the insensibility resulting from the tremendous punch which Isaac's jaw had received from the gentleman now at bay at the top of the steps could be regarded in the light of a serious reverse. The disposition of the still unconscious youth's companions seemed to be to regard his misfortune in the light of a joke, though their obvious intention was to add this example of the strange gallant's prowess to the total of the score for which they expected to secure settlement in full without further delay.
"'Ee 's an 'ansome pusson, hain't 'ee?" remarked one facetious individual in the front rank of the crowd assembled at the bottom step.
"A blooming Prince Charmin'," assented a heavy-browed ruffian, resting his great cudgel on the railing. "Oh, but he are n't a circumstance to what he will look when we have altered his countenance a bit."
"It stroikes me the spalpeen has been powdering his mug," growled Sweeny, his little eyes blazing with a ferocious light. His lips, damp and red, were wolf-like as his tusk-shaped and scattered teeth bit deep into them in his rage. "He 's pale loike."
"Watch! Watch!"
"Call, sorr, call. It's no good the watch will do yez this noight. Ye 'll git a bating now that ye will carry the marks of to your dying day."
"I 'd rather be excused, sir," replied the gentleman, coolly. "Unless I mistake, I have not the honor of your acquaintance."