These cases, however, were exceptional. On the
whole there reigned a spirit of imbecile joviality. Shrieks of
female laughter testified to the success of the entertainment.
As Bob and his companion quitted this sphere of delight, ill-luck
brought it to pass that Mr. Jack Bartley and his train were on the
point of entering. Jack uttered a phrase of stinging sarcasm with
reference to Pennyloaf's red feather; whereupon Bob smote him
exactly between the eyes. Yells arose; there was a scuffle, a rush,
a tumult. The two were separated before further harm came of the
little misunderstanding, but Jack went to the tea-tables vowing
vengeance.
Poor Pennyloaf shed tears as Bob led her to the place where the band
had begun playing. Only her husband's anger prevented her from
yielding to utter misery. But now they had come to the centre of the
building, and by dint of much struggle in the crowd they obtained a
standing whence they could see the vast amphitheatre, filled with
thousands of faces. Here at length was quietness, intermission of
folly and brutality. Bob became another man as he stood and
listened. He looked with kindness into Pennyloaf's pale, weary face,
and his arm stole about her waist to support her.
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