would have to
meet. And he wished therefore to have more room round him than the
_cul-de-sac_ afforded.

But there was no need for precaution.

The young man had begun to look rather sickly under the eyes and to
hiccup three or four times in distressed manner; when suddenly the
clamor round the fight ceased. Frank was aware of a shrill old voice
calling out something behind him; and the next instant, simultaneously
with the dropping of his adversary's hands, he himself was seized from
behind by the arms, and, writhing, discerned is blue sleeve and a gloved
hand holding him.

"Now, what's all this?" said a voice in his ear.

There was a chorus of explanation, declaring that "'Alb" had been set
upon without provocation. There was a particularly voluble woman with
red arms and an exceedingly persuasive manner, who advanced from a
doorway and described the incident from her own point of view. She had
been hanging out the children's things, she began, and so forth; and
Frank was declared the aggressor and "'Alb" the innocent victim.

Then the chorus broke out again, and "'Alb," after another fit of
hiccupping, corroborated the witnesses in a broken and pathetically
indignant voice.

Frank tore himself from one embracing arm and faced round, still held by
the other.

"All right; I shan't run away.... Look here; that's a black lie. He was
hitting that old man. Where is he? Come on, uncle, and tell us all about
it."

The old man advanced, his toothless face contorted with inexplicable
emotion, and corroborated the red-armed woman, and the chorus generally,
with astonishing volubility and emphasis.

"You old fool!" said Frank curtly. "What are you afraid of? Let's have
the truth, now. Wasn't he hitting you?"

"He, he, he!" giggled the old man, torn by the desire of
self-preservation on one side and, let us hope, by a wish for justice on
the other. "He warn't hittin' of me. He's my son, he is.... 'Alb is....
We were just having--"

"There! get out of this," said the policeman, releasing Frank with a
shove. "We don't want your sort here. Coming and making trouble.... Yes;
my lad. You needn't look at me like that. I know you."

"Who the deuce are you talking to?" snapped Frank.

"I know who I'm talking to, well enough," pronounced the policeman
judicially. "F. Gregory, ain't it? Now you be off out of this, or you'll
be in trouble again."

There was something vaguely kindly about the man's manner, and Frank
unde