But Irma continued to struggle, till Kalman, running to her side, cried, "Let my sister go!"
"Go away, Kalman. I am not hurting your sister. It's only fun.
Go away," said Sprink.
"She does not think it fun," said the boy quietly. "Let her go."
"Oh, go away, you leetle kid. Go away and sit down. You think yourself too much."
It was Rosenblatt's harsh voice. As he spoke, he seized the boy by the collar and with a quick jerk flung him back among the crowd.
It was as if he had fired some secret magazine of passion in the boy's heart. Uttering the wild cry of a mad thing, Kalman sprang at him with such lightning swiftness that Rosenblatt was borne back and would have fallen, but for those behind. Recovering himself, he dealt the boy a heavy blow in the face that staggered him for a moment, but only for a moment. It seemed as if the boy had gone mad. With the same wild cry, and this time with a knife open in his hand, he sprang at his hated enemy, stabbing quick, fierce stabs. But this time Rosenblatt was ready. Taking the boy's stabs on his arm, he struck the boy a terrific blow on the neck. As Kalman fell, he clutched and hung to his foe, who, seizing him by the throat, dragged him swiftly toward the door.
"Hold this shut," he said to a friend of his who was following him close.
After they had passed through, the man shut the door and held it fast, keeping the crowd from getting out.
"Now," said Rosenblatt, dragging the half-insensible boy around to the back of the house, "the time is come. The chance is too good.
You try to kill me, but there will be one less Kalmar in the world to-night. There will be a little pay back of my debt to your cursed father. Take that--and that." As he spoke the words, he struck the boy hard upon the head and face, and then flinging him down in the snow, proceeded deliberately to kick him to death.
But even as he threw the boy down, a shrill screaming pierced through the quiet of the night, and from the back of the house a little girl ran shrieking. "He is killing him! He is killing him!"
It was little Elizabeth Ketzel, who had been let in through the back window to hear Kalman sing, and who, at the first appearance of trouble, had fled by the way she had entered, meeting Rosenblatt as he appeared dragging the insensible boy through the snow. Her shrieks arrested the man in his murderous purpose. He turned and fled, leaving the boy bleeding and insensible in the snow.
As Rosenblatt disappeared, a cutter drove rapidly up.
"What's the row, kiddie?" said a man, springing out. It was Dr.
Wright, returning from a midnight trip to one of his patients in the foreign colony. "Who's killing who?"
"It is Kalman!" cried Elizabeth, "and he is dead! Oh, he is dead!"
The doctor knelt beside the boy. "Great Caesar! It surely is my friend Kalman, and in a bad way. Some more vendetta business, I have no doubt. Now what in thunder is that, do you suppose?" From the house came a continuous shrieking. "Some more killing, I guess. Here, throw this robe about the boy while I see about this."
He ran to the door and kicked it open. It seemed as if the whole company of twenty or thirty men were every man fighting. As the doctor paused to get his bearings, he saw across the room in the farthest corner, Irma screaming as she struggled in the grasp of Samuel Sprink, and in the midst of the room Paulina fighting like a demon and uttering strange weird cries. She was trying to force her way to the door.
As she caught sight of the doctor, she threw out her hands toward him with a loud cry. "Kalman--killing! Kalman--killing!" was all she could say.
The doctor thrust himself forward through the struggling men, crying in a loud voice, "Here, you, let that woman go! And you there, let that girl alone!"
Most of the men knew him, and at his words they immediately ceased fighting.
"What the deuce are you at, anyway, you men?" he continued, as Paulina and the girl sprang past him and out of the door. "Do you fight with women?"
"No," said one of the men. "Dis man," pointing to Sprink, "he mak fun wit de girl."
"Mighty poor fun," said the doctor, turning toward Sprink. "And who has been killing that boy outside?"
"It is that young devil Kalman, who has been trying to kill Mr. Rosenblatt," replied Sprink.
"Oh, indeed," said the doctor, "and what was the gentle Mr. Rosenblatt doing meantime?"
"Rosenblatt?" cried Jacob Wassyl, coming forward excitedly. "He mak for hurt dat boy. Dis man," pointing to Sprink, "he try for kiss dat girl. Boy he say stop. Rosenblatt he trow boy back. Boy he fight."
"Look here, Jacob," said Dr. Wright, "you get these men's names--this man," pointing to Sprink, "and a dozen more--and we'll make this interesting for Rosenblatt in the police court to-morrow morning."
Outside the house the doctor found Paulina sitting in the snow with Kalman's head in her lap, swaying to and fro muttering and groaning. Beside her stood Irma and Elizabeth Ketzel weeping wildly. The doctor raised the boy gently.
"Get into the cutter," he said to Paulina. Irma translated. The woman ran without a word, seated herself in the cutter and held out her arms for the boy.
"That will do," said the doctor, laying Kalman in her arms. "Now get some shawls, quilts or something for your mother and yourself, or you'll freeze to death, and come along."
The girl rushed away and returned in a few moments with a bundle of shawls.
"Get in," said the doctor, "and be quick."
The men were crowding about.
"Now, Jacob," said the doctor, turning to Wassyl, who stood near, "you get me those names and we'll get after that man, you bet! or I'm a Turk. This boy is going to die, sure."
As he spoke, he sprang into his cutter and sent his horse off at a gallop, for by the boy's breathing he felt that the chances of life were slipping swiftly away.
