match. The flame catches a bunch of dry grass, and, before any one can
realise what is happening, sheets of fire are racing over the country;
and the interested neighbours are following their example. (I have
already compared a row with a thunderstorm; but both comparisons may
stand. In dealing with so vast a matter as a row there must be no
stint.)

The tomato which hit Wyatt in the face was the thrown-away match. But
for the unerring aim of the town marksman great events would never
have happened. A tomato is a trivial thing (though it is possible that
the man whom it hits may not think so), but in the present case, it
was the direct cause of epoch-making trouble.

The tomato hit Wyatt. Wyatt, with others, went to look for the
thrower. The remnants of the thrower's friends were placed in the
pond, and "with them," as they say in the courts of law, Police
Constable Alfred Butt.

Following the chain of events, we find Mr. Butt, having prudently
changed his clothes, calling upon the headmaster.

The headmaster was grave and sympathetic; Mr. Butt fierce and
revengeful.

The imagination of the force is proverbial. Nurtured on motor-cars and
fed with stop-watches, it has become world-famous. Mr. Butt gave free
rein to it.

"Threw me in, they did, sir. Yes, sir."