And it was at that precise moment that Gunboat Dorgan stepped into the room.
Teddie's persecutor, with one quick glance over his shoulder, saw the intruder. He saw the younger man in the natty high-belted sophomoric-looking suit that gave him the beguiling air of a stripling, saw him standing there, studiously arrested, appraisingly alert, with anticipation as sweet to his palate as a chocolate-drop is sweet to the tongue of a street urchin.
"And what do you want?" demanded Uhlan, with one appropriative arm still grasping the girl in the paint-smudged smock.
"I want yuh," announced Gunboat Dorgan, shedding his coat with one and only one miraculously rapid movement of the arms.
The big portrait-painter slowly released his hold. His face hardened. Then he looked sharply at Teddie. Then he looked even more sharply at the audacious youth who had so significantly kicked a chair away from the center of the room.
"What does all this mean?" he de-
