of the
slope as they watched the crowd blundering blindly down the hill. There
were more men than Parson Leggy, the squire, James Moore, and the local
constables in the thick of it all, striving frantically with voice and
gesture, ay, and stick too, to stem the advance.

It was useless; on the dark wave rolled, irresistible.

On the far bank stood the little man, motionless, awaiting them with a
grin upon his face. And a little farther in front was the Tailless Tyke,
his back and neck like a new-shorn wheat-field, as he rumbled a vast
challenge.

"Come on, gentlemen!" the little man cried. "Come on! I'll bide for ye,
never fear. Ye're a thousand to one and a dog. It's the odds ye like,
Englishmen a'."

And the mob, with murder in its throat, accepted the invitation and came
on.

At the moment, however, from the slope above, clear above the tramp of
the multitude, a great voice bellowed: "Way! Way! Way for Mr. Trotter!"
The advancing host checked and opened out; and the secretary of the
meeting bundled through.

He was a small, fat man, fussy at any time, and perpetually perspiring.
Now his face was crimson with rage and running; he gesticulated wildly;
vague words bubbled forth, as his short legs twinkled down the slope.

The crowd paused to admire. Some one shouted a witticism, and the crowd
laughed. For the moment the situation was saved.

The fat secretary hurried on down the slope, unheeding of any insult but
the one. He bounced over the plank-bridge: and as he came closer, M'Adam
saw that in each hand brandished a brick.

"Hoots, man! dinna throw!" he cried, making a feint as though to turn in
sudden terror.

"What's this? What's this?" gasped the secretary, waving his arms.

"Bricks, 'twad seem," the other answered, staying his flight.

The secretary puffed up like a pudding in a hurry.

"Where's the Cup? Champion, Challenge, etc.," he jerked out. "Mind, sir,
you're responsible! wholly responsible! Dents, damages, delays! What's
it all mean, sir? These--these monstrous creations "--he brandished the
bricks, and M'Adam started back--"wrapped, as I live, in straw, sir, in
the Cup case, sir! the Cup case! No Cup! Infamous! Disgraceful! Insult
me--meeting--committee--every one! What's it mean, sir?" He paused to
pant, his body filling and emptying like a bladder.

M'Adam approached him with one eye on the crowd, which was heaving
forward again, threatening still, but sullen and silent.

"I pit 'em