profession of the
Putney Pet. His thick-set frame, his hard-featured, battered, hang-dog
face proclaimed him a prize-fighter.

"Now for a toast, gentlemen," said Mr. Bouncer. "May the Gown give the
Town a jolly good hiding!"

This was received with great applause, and the Putney Pet was dressed
out in a gown and mortar-board, and the whole party then sallied out to
battle. From time immemorial it has been the custom at Oxford for the
town-people and the scholars to engage, at least once a year, in a wild
scrimmage, and the pitched battle was now due. No doubt it was not quite
fair for the men of Brazenface to bring the Putney Pet up from London
for the occasion; but for some years Gown had been defeated by Town, and
they were resolved to have their revenge.

When Mr. Bouncer's party turned the corner of Saint Mary's, they found
that the Town, as usual, had taken the initiative, and in a dense body
had swept the High Street and driven all the gownsmen before them. A
small knot of 'varsity men were manfully struggling against superior
numbers by St. Mary's Hall.

"Gown to the rescue!" shouted Mr. Bouncer, as he dashed across the
street. "Come on, Pet! Here we are in the thick of it, just in the nick
of time!"

Poor Mr. Verdant Green had never learnt to box. He was a lover of peace
and quietness, and would have preferred to have watched the battle from
a college window; but he had been drawn in the fray against his will by
Mr. Bouncer. He now rushed into the scrimmage with no idea of fighting,
and a valiant bargee singled him out as an easy prey, and aimed a heavy
blow at him. Instinctively doubling his fists, Mr. Verdant Green found
that necessity was indeed the mother of invention; and, with a passing
thought of what would be his mother's and his maiden aunt's feelings
could they see him fighting with a common bargeman, he managed to guard
off the blow. But he was not so fortunate in the second round, for the
bargee knocked him down, but was happily knocked down in turn by the
Putney Pet. The language of this gentle and refined scholar had become
very peculiar.

"There's a squelcher for you, my kivey," he said to the bargee, as he
sent him sprawling. Then, turning round, he asked a townsman: "What do
you charge for a pint of Dutch pink?" following up the question by
striking him on the nose.

Unused to being questioned in this violent way, the town party at last
turned and fled, and the gownsmen went in search o