His one trouble was Mr. Purnip, that estimable gentleman, who seemed to
have a weird gift of meeting him at all sorts of times and places, never
making any allusion to his desertion, but showing quite clearly by his
manner that he still hoped for the return of the wanderer. It was
awkward for a man of sensitive disposition, and Mr. Billing, before
entering a street, got into the habit of peering round the corner first.

He pulled up suddenly one evening as he saw his tenacious friend,
accompanied by a lady-member, some little distance ahead. Then he sprang
forward with fists clenched as a passer-by, after scowling at Mr. Purnip,
leaned forward and deliberately blew a mouthful of smoke into the face of
his companion.

Mr. Billing stopped again and stood gaping with astonishment. The
aggressor was getting up from the pavement, while Mr. Purnip, in an
absolutely correct attitude, stood waiting for him. Mr. Billing in a
glow of delight edged forward, and, with a few other fortunates, stood by
watching one of the best fights that had ever been seen in the district.
Mr. Purnip's foot-work was excellent, and the way he timed his blows made
Mr. Billing's eyes moist with admiration.

It was over at last. The aggressor went limping off, and Mr. Purnip,
wiping his bald head, picked up his battered and dusty hat from the
roadway and brushed it on his sleeve. He turned with a start and a blush
to meet the delighted gaze of Mr. Billing.

"I'm ashamed of myself," he murmured, brokenly--"ashamed."

"Ashamed !" exclaimed the amazed Mr. Billing. "Why, a pro couldn't ha'