This brought the second jock into the fray. He was a broad,
thickset fellow, of the adorable bandy-legged stocky type that I had
seen go through the Railway Triangle at Arras as though it were
blotting-paper. He had some notion of fighting, too, and gave me a
rough time, for I had to keep edging the other fellow off Gresson.

'Go home, you fool,' I shouted. 'Let this gentleman alone. I
don't want to hurt you.'

The only answer was a hook-hit which I just managed to guard,
followed by a mighty drive with his right which I dodged so that
he barked his knuckles on the wall. I heard a yell of rage, and
observed that Gresson seemed to have kicked his assailant on the
shin. I began to long for the police.

Then there was that swaying of the crowd which betokens the
approach of the forces of law and order. But they were too late to
prevent trouble. In self-defence I had to take my jock seriously,
and got in my blow when he had overreached himself and lost his
balance. I never hit anyone so unwillingly in my life. He went over
like a poled ox, and measured his length on the causeway.

I found myself explaining things politely to the constables. 'These
men objected to this gentleman's speech at the meeting, and I had
to interfere to protect him. No, no! I don't want to charge anybody.
It was all a misunderstanding.' I helped the stricken jock to rise
and offered him ten bob for consolation.

He looked at me sullenly and spat on the ground. 'Keep your