the door at the back of the bar, he roared out:

'Alf!'

'Yes, sir,' replied a voice, evidently from the basement.

'Just come up 'ere.'

'All right,' replied the voice, and footsteps were heard ascending some
stairs.

'You'll see some fun in a minute,' gleefully remarked Crass to Easton.

The polyphone continued to play 'The Boys of the Bulldog Breed.'

Philpot crossed over to the Semi-drunk. 'Look 'ere, old man,' he
whispered, 'take my tip and go 'ome quietly. You'll only git the worse
of it, you know.'

'Not me, mate,' replied the other, shaking his head doggedly. ''Ere I
am, and 'ere I'm goin' to bloody well stop.'

'No, you ain't,' replied Philpot coaxingly. ''Look 'ere. I'll tell you
wot we'll do. You 'ave just one more 'arf-pint along of me, and then
we'll both go 'ome together. I'll see you safe 'ome.'

'See me safe 'ome! Wotcher mean?' indignantly demanded the other. 'Do
you think I'm drunk or wot?'

'No. Certainly not,' replied Philpot, hastily. 'You're all right, as
right as I am myself. But you know wot I mean. Let's go 'ome. You
don't want to stop 'ere all night, do you?'

By this time Alf had arrived at the door of the back of the bar. He
was a burly young man about twenty-two or twenty-three years of age.

'Put it outside,' growled the landlord, indicating the culprit.

The barman instantly vaulted over the counter, and, having opened wide
the door leading into the street, he turned to the half-drunken man
and, jerking his thumb in the direction of the door, said:

'Are yer goin'?'

'I'm goin' to 'ave 'arf a pint along of this genelman first--'

'Yes. It's all right,' said Philpot to the landlord. 'Let's 'ave two
'arf-pints, and say no more about it.'

'You mind your own business,' shouted the landlord, turning savagely on
him. ''E'll get no more 'ere! I don't want no drunken men in my
'ouse. Who asked you to interfere?'

'Now then!' exclaimed the barman to the cause of the trouble, 'Outside!'

'Not me!' said the Semi-drunk firmly. 'Not before I've 'ad my 'arf--'

But before he could conclude, the barman had clutched him by the
collar, dragged him violently to the door and shot him into the middle
of the road, where he fell in a heap almost under the wheels of a
brewer's dray that happened to be passing. This accomplished, Alf shut
the door and retired behind the counter again.

'Serve 'im bloody well right,' said Crass.

'I couldn't 'elp laughin' when I seen