Now Johnnie was big and fat, but Johnnie was rather drunk, and George
was tough and exceedingly strong. In almost less time that it takes to
write it he grasped the abominable Johnnie by the scruff of the neck
and had with a mighty jerk hauled him over the sofa so that he lay
face downwards thereon. By the door quite convenient to his hand stood
George's ground ash stick, a peculiarly good and well-grown one which
he had cut himself in Honham wood. He seized it. "Now, boar," he said,
"I'll teach you how we do the trick where I come from," and he laid on
without mercy. /Whack! whack! whack!/ came the ground ash on Johnnie's
tight clothes. He yelled, swore and struggled in the grip of the
sturdy countryman, but it was of no use, the ash came down like fate;
never was a Johnnie so bastinadoed before.

"Give it the brute, give it him," shrilled the fair Edithia,
bethinking her of her wrongs, and he did till he was tired.

"Now, Johnnie boar," he panted at last, "I'm thinking I've pretty nigh
whacked you to dead. Perhaps you'll larn to be more careful how you
handles your betters by-and-by." Then seizing his hat he ran down the
stairs without seeing anybody and slipping into the street crossed
over and listened.

They were at it again. Seeing her enemy prostrate the Tiger had fallen
on him, with the fire-irons to judge from the noise.

Just then a policeman hurried up.

"I say, master," said George, "the folk in that there house with the
red pillars do fare to be a murdering of each other."

The policeman listened to the din and then made for the house.
Profiting by his absence George retreated as fast as he could, his
melancholy countenance shining with sober satisfaction.

On the following morning, before he returned to Honham, George paid a
visit to St. Bartholomew's Church, Hackney. Here he made certain
investigations in the registers, the results of which were not
unsatisfactory to him.

CHAPTER XXIX

EDWARD COSSEY MEETS WITH AN ACCIDENT

At the best of times this is not a gay world, though no doubt we ought
to pretend that humanity at large is as happy as it is represented to
be in, let us say, the Christmas number of an illustrated paper. How
well we can imagine the thoughtful inhabitant of this country Anno
Domini 7500 or thereabouts disinterring from the crumbling remains of
a fireproof safe a Christmas number of the /Illustrated London News/
or the /Gr