hush of pleased anticipation
among the audience.

"Yes, sir. One."

"Then bring it out here and open it."

Beale looked pained.

"For _them_, sir!" he ejaculated.

"Yes. Hurry up."

He hesitated, then without a word went into the house. A hearty cheer
went up as he reappeared with the case. I proceeded indoors in search
of glasses and water.

Coming out, I realised my folly in having left Beale alone with our
visitors even for a minute. A brisk battle was raging between him and a
man whom I did not remember to have seen before. The frock-coated young
man was looking on with pale fear stamped upon his face; but the rest
of the crowd were shouting advice and encouragement was being given to
Beale. How I wondered, had he pacified the mob?

I soon discovered. As I ran up as quickly as I could, hampered as I was
by the jugs and glasses, Beale knocked his man out with the clean
precision of the experienced boxer; and the crowd explained in chorus
that it was the pot-boy, from the Net and Mackerel. Like everything
else, the whisky had not been paid for and the pot-boy, arriving just
as the case was being opened, had made a gallant effort to save it from
being distributed free to his fellow-citizens. By the time he came to,
the glasses were circulating merrily; and, on observing this, he
accepted the situation philosophically enough, and took his turn and
turn about with the others.

Everybody was now in excellent fettle. The only malcontents were Beale,
whose heart plainly bled at the waste of good Scotch whisky, and the
frock-coated young man, who was still pallid.

I was just congratulating myself, as I eyed the revellers, on having
achieved a masterstroke of strategy, when that demon Charlie, his
defeat, I suppose, still rankling, made a suggestion. From his point of
view a timely and ingenious suggestion.

"We can't see the colour of our money," he said pithily, "but we can
have our own back."

That settled it. The battle was over. The most skilful general must
sometime recognise defeat. I recognised it then, and threw up my hand.
I could do nothing further with them. I had done my best for the farm.
I could do no more.

I lit my pipe, and strolled into the paddock.

Chaos followed. Indoors and out-of-doors they raged without check. Even
Beale gave the thing up. He knocked Charlie into a flower-bed, and then
disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

It was growing dusk. From inside the house came