eat of personal violence nothing had been further
from his thoughts on entering the room. He said this because he could
think of nothing else to say, and stuck out his elbows truculently to
hide the sinking of his heart. It is curious how situations run away
with us.

"'Ullo, Charlie!" said the little man, and "My eye!" said the owner of
the chins. "You're going to wipe your boots on 'im?" said the fair young
man, in a tone of mild surprise.

"I am," said Mr. Hoopdriver, with emphatic resolution, and glared in the
young man's face.

"That's fair and reasonable," said the man in the velveteen jacket; "if
you can."

The interest of the meeting seemed transferred to the young man in the
white tic. "Of course, if you can't find out which it is, I suppose
you're prepared to wipe your boots in a liberal way on everybody in the
room," said this young man, in the same tone of impersonal question.
"This gentleman, the champion lightweight--"

"Own up, Charlie," said the young man with the gaiters, looking up for a
moment. "And don't go a-dragging in your betters. It's fair and square.
You can't get out of it."

"Was it this--gent?" began Mr. Hoopdriver.

"Of course," said the young man in the white tie, "when it comes to
talking of wiping boots--"

"I'm not talking; I'm going to do it," said Mr. Hoopdriver.

He looked round at the meeting. They were no longer antagonists; they
were spectators. He would have to go through with it now. But this tone
of personal aggression on the maker of the remark had somehow got rid of
the oppressive feeling of Hoopdriver contra mundum. Apparently, he would
have to fight someone. Would he get a black eye? Would he get very much
hurt? Pray goodness it wasn't that sturdy chap in the gaiters! Should
he rise and begin? What would she think if he brought a black eye to
breakfast to-morrow? "Is this the man?" said Mr. Hoopdriver, with a
business-like calm, and arms more angular than ever.

"Eat 'im!" said the little man with the beard; "eat 'im straight orf."

"Steady on!" said the young man in the white tie. "Steady on a minute.
If I did happen to say--"

"You did, did you?" said Mr. Hoopdriver.

"Backing out of it, Charlie?" said the young man with the gaiters.

"Not a bit," said Charlie. "Surely we can pass a bit of a joke--"

"I'm going to teach you to keep your jokes to yourself," said Mr.
Hoopdriver.

"Bray-vo!" said the shepherd of the flock of chins.

"Charlie IS a bit to