ot free
her from the jovial embrace of a man who insists that there is plenty
of room on his knee. Off we go! It is a long third-class coach, and
already five or six musical instruments have struck up. We smoke and
sing at the same time; we quarrel and make love--the latter in somewhat
primitive fashion; we roll about with the rolling of the train; we nod
into hoggish sleep.

The platform at Holborn Viaduct; and there, to Pennyloaf's terror, it
is seen that Clem Peckover and her satellites have come by the same
train. She does her best to get Bob quickly away, but Clem keeps close
in their neighbourhood. Just as they issue from the station Pennyloaf
feels herself bespattered from head to foot with some kind of fluid;
turning, she is aware that all her enemies have squirts in their hands,
and are preparing for a second discharge of filthy water. Anguish for
the ruin of her dress overcomes all other fear; she calls upon Bob to
defend her.

But an immediate conflict was not Jack Bartley's intention. He and
those with him made off at a run, Bob pursuing as closely as his
unsteadiness would permit. In this way they all traversed the short
distance to Clerkenwell Green, either party echoing the other's
objurgations along the thinly-peopled streets. At length arrived the
suitable moment. Near St. James's Church Jack Bartley made a stand, and
defied his enemy to come on. Bob responded with furious eagerness; amid
a press of delighted spectators, swelled by people just turned out of
the public-houses, the two lads fought like wild animals. Nor were they
the only combatants. Exasperated by the certainty that her hat and
dolman were ruined, Pennyloaf flew with erected nails at Clem Peckover.
It was just what the latter desired. In an instant she had rent half
Pennyloaf's garments off her back, and was tearing her face till the
blood streamed. Inconsolable was the grief of the crowd when a couple
of stalwart policemen came hustling forward, thrusting to left and
right, irresistibly clearing the corner. There was no question of
making arrests; it was the night of Bank-holiday, and the capacity of
police-cells is limited. Enough that the fight perforce came to an end.
Amid frenzied blasphemy Bob and Jack went their several ways; so did
Clem and Pennyloaf.

Poor Pennyloaf! Arrived at Shooter's Gardens, and having groped her way
blindly up to the black hole which was her wedding-chamber, she just
managed to light a candle, then san