would rely on mutual support in the
official account of the riot, individual idiocy would escape censure.

In so far as Jenny was pushing her way out of the mob, was seeking
desperately to gain the sanctuary of a side street and forever escape
from feminine demonstrations, she was acting in a way likely to cause a
breach of the peace. So it was not surprising that a young plough-boy
lately invested with an uniform should feel impelled to arrest her.

"Now then, you come along of me," commanded the yokel as a blush ebbed
and flowed upon his cheeks glistening with down and perspiration.

"Who are you pushing, you?" cried Jenny, enraged to find her arm in the
tight grasp of a podgy, freckled hand.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," he declared.

"Don't you speak to me, you. Why, what _are_ you? Invisible blue when
you're wanted. Let go of me. I won't be held. I wasn't doing anything. I
was going home. Let go."

The young policeman, disinclined to risk the adventure single-handed,
looked around for a fellow-constable to assist at the conveyance of
Jenny to the station. All his companions, however, seemed busily engaged
tugging at recalcitrant women; and instead of being congratulated on his
first arrest, a well-groomed man, white with rage, shouted: "Look here,
you blackguard, I've got your number and I'll have your coat off for
this. This lady was doing absolutely nothing but trying to escape from
the crowd."

The young policeman looked about him once more with watery,
unintelligent eyes. He was hoping that someone would arrest the
well-groomed man; but as nobody did, and as the latter was not unlike
the Captain of the Volunteer Company from whose ranks he had climbed
into the force, the novice released his grip of Jenny and said:

"Now, you be off. You won't get another chance."

"No, you turnip-headed bumpkin," shouted the well-groomed man, "nor will
you, when I've had five minutes at Scotland Yard. I'm going to watch
you, my friend. You're not fit for a position of responsibility."

Jenny, free of the crowd, walked through the peace of Whitehall Court
and promised herself that never again would she have anything to do with
suffragettes.

"Soppy fools," she thought, "they can't do nothing. They can only
jabber, jabber." She reproached herself for imagining it was possible to
consummate a revenge on man by such means. She had effected nothing but
the exposure of her person to the freckled paws of a police