The coach bore her away; and I walked back through the crowded
streets with my spirits down in my boots, and my fists thrust deep
into the pockets of my small-clothes.

In this dejected mood I reached the Market Strand just as Captain
Coffin came up it from the Plume of Feathers public-house, cursing
and striking out with his stick at a mob of small boys.



CHAPTER III.


A STREET FIGHT, AND WHAT CAME OF IT.

He emerged upon the street which crosses the head of Market Strand,
and, dropping his arms, stood for a moment us if in doubt of his
bearings. He was flagrantly drunk, but not aggressively.
He reminded me of a purblind owl that, blundering Into daylight, is
set upon and mobbed by a crowd of small birds.

The 'longshoremen and loafers grinned and winked at one another, but
forbore to interfere. Plainly the spectacle was a familiar one.

The man was not altogether repulsive; pitiable, rather; a small, lean
fellow, with a grey-white face drawn into wrinkles about the jaw, and
eyes that wandered timidly. He wore a suit of good sea-cloth--
soiled, indeed, but neither ragged nor threadbare--and a blue and
yellow spotted neckerchief, the bow of which had worked around
towards his right ear. His hat, perched a-cock over his left eye,