ed through a hole in
the hedge and made his way towards Barton Bridge, whither he had
already been preceded by a number of the more pacific spirits. "The
cops 'll be 'ere presently, or I don't know my own mother."

Bindle was right. Lady Knob-Kerrick had telephoned to Ryford, and the
police were already on their way in three motor-cars.

At Barton Bridge they were reinforced by the two local constables and
later by the men-servants from the Castle. When they arrived at the
entrance to the meadow they found McFie leading an extremely
out-of-tune rendering of "Onward, Christian Soldiers." Immediately he
saw the approaching forces of Mammon, as he called them, he climbed
down from his post of vantage and secured the hose.

The police and the retainers from the Castle approached the carriage to
remove it and thus gain entrance to the meadow. Led by the red-faced
superintendent from Ryford, they presented an imposing array. Allowing
them to approach quite close, McFie suddenly gave the signal for the
water to be turned on. He had taken the precaution to post men at the
hydrant to protect it.

The superintendent's legs flew up into the air as the jet of water
caught him beneath the chin. In a few seconds the attacking party had
been hosed into a gasping, choking, and struggling heap. Cokernuts,
wooden balls, sticks, bits of chairs, glasses and crockery rained upon
them.

The forces of Mammon gathered themselves together and retired in
disorder. Andrew McFie's blood was up. Victory was at hand. In his
excitement he committed the tactical blunder of causing the carriage to
be removed, that he might charge the enemy and complete its
discomfiture. His followers, however, had too long been accustomed to
regard the police with awe, and most of the men, fearful of being
recognised, sneaked through holes in the hedges, and made their way
home by circuitous routes.

Those who remained, together with a number of girls and women, fought
until they were overpowered and captured, and the Barton Bridge
Temperance Fete came to an inglorious end.

That same evening, having laden the van with such of the property and
tents as had not been utilised for bonfires and missiles, Bindle took
his seat on the tail-board, and the van lumbered off in the direction
of London.

He proceeded to review the events of the day. What particularly
diverted him was the recollection of the way in which horses and
vehicles had been mixed