This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1899 Excerpt: ...into the street there were no cabs in sight, but being in the vein for a smart walk to the hotel, they pushed along with little better light than the paling fires of the morning stars. They were crossing into one of the narrow, winding, dark streets running at right angles with the Corso, when, experience common enough ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1899 Excerpt: ...into the street there were no cabs in sight, but being in the vein for a smart walk to the hotel, they pushed along with little better light than the paling fires of the morning stars. They were crossing into one of the narrow, winding, dark streets running at right angles with the Corso, when, experience common enough to belated pedestrians through the meaner quarters of Rome, they were suddenly set upon by a half-dozen zealous but unreasoning ruffians, unlearned in the hitting power of two physically-trained Anglo-Saxons with a prejudice against highway robbery. Several minutes of persistent demonstration were necessary to convince the thoughtless aggressors of their want of judgment, but even then it was the chance appearance of two of the constabulary rather than the force of blows that determined their flight. "Rather lively, eh?" said Mendenhall, laughing, as their assailants made away. "Yes. Did you get hurt?" "No, I think not, though one of them gave me a sharp thump in the side that I felt for a moment." The officers were less disposed to pursue the fugitives than to question suspiciously the victims of the assault. In the midst of answering their excited inquiries, Mendenhall grasped Blakemore's shoulder, exclaiming, --"By George, old fellow! I've got a queerish sensation! You would better take hold of me." And not only Blakemore had need to take hold of him, for, with some jocular protests against being made the butt of a peculiarly feminine artifice he presently slipped into unconsciousness; and the officers became aware that they had neglected a rare chance to distinguish themselves in a chase after assassins. "Well, doctor?" Blakemore asked anxiously at the hotel half an hour later, as the surge...
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