"It's only a drunken man."

"They say 'e was knocked down in a fight."

"No; the Push stoushed 'im, an' then cleared."

Someone struck a match and looked at his face; it was smeared with blood.
Then the crowd rendered "first aid" in the street fashion.

"Wot's yer name? W'ere d'yer live? 'Ow did it 'appen?"

And at each question they shook him vigorously, impatient at his silence.
The buzz of voices increased.

"W'ere's the perlice?"

"Not w'ere they're wanted, you may be sure."

"It's my belief they go 'ome an' sleep it out these cold nights."

"Well, I s'pose a p'liceman 'as ter take care of 'imself, like everybody
else," said one, and laughed.

"It's shameful the way these brutes are allowed to knock men about."

"An' the perlice know very well 'oo they are, but they're afraid of
their own skins."

The woman in the nightdress had edged nearer, craning her neck over the
shoulders of the men to see better. As another match was struck she saw