freight. Drew was after him before he could recover from that first blow, and he got in a couple of other punches that ended the encounter—for the time being, at least. His antagonist went to the floor of the dock and stayed there. 

 "Beat it, 'bo!" advised a seaman at the Normandy's rail.  "Here comes the cop." 

 Drew accepted the advice as good, dodged around a tier of freight, and so escaped. He was not of a quarrelsome disposition; yet somehow the memory of those three blows he had struck gave him a deal of satisfaction. 

 "I never supposed those sparring lessons at the gym would come in so handy," he thought, hurrying officeward. Then he chuckled.  "Yesterday I was grouching because nothing ever happened to me. And look at it now! That fellow had it coming to him, that's all. I wonder who he is. Like enough I'll never see him again." 

 But he was never more mistaken in his life than in this surmise. 

 Grimshaw had come in by the time Drew got back to the shop, and was busy in his office. Winters and Sam were condoling with each other over the amount of work that lay before them. 

 "It's a whale of a job," complained Winters, looking about the crowded shop. 

 "Ah kin feel de mis'ry comin' into ma back ag'in," groaned Sam, who had formerly been a piano mover, but had been obliged to seek a less strenuous occupation because of having wrenched his back.  "Ah suttinly will be ready fo' de hospital when Ah gits t'rough wid dis movin'." 

 "Oh, you're just plain lazy, Sam," chaffed Drew.  "It won't be half so bad as you think. We'll have a gang of truckmen and their helpers to do most of the heavy work. But I suppose we've got our hands full, packing these instruments so they won't be broken and scratched. And 'hustle' is the word from now on." 

 "But think of the junk upstairs!" groaned Winters.  "Why doesn't the old man call in the Salvation Army and give them the whole bunch on condition that they take it away? He's got the accumulation of twenty years on that top floor, and it's not worth the powder to blow it up. It beats me why Tyke keeps all that old clutter." 

 "It doesn't seem worth house room," admitted Drew; "and now that we're moving, perhaps we can get rid of a lot of the stuff. I'll speak to Tyke about it. But let's forget the upper floors and get busy 

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