Bob responded with furious
eagerness; amid a press of delighted spectators, swelled by people
just turned out of the public-houses, the two lads fought like wild
animals. Nor were they the only combatants. Exasperated by the
certainty that her hat and dolman were ruined, Pennyloaf flew with
erected nails at Clem Peckover. It was just what the latter desired.
In an instant she had rent half Pennyloaf's garments off her back,
and was tearing her face till the blood streamed. Inconsolable was
the grief of the crowd when a couple of stalwart policemen came
hustling forward, thrusting to left and right, irresistibly clearing
the corner. There was no question of making arrests; it was the
night of Bank-holiday, and the capacity of police-cells is limited.
Enough that the fight perforce came to an end. Amid frenzied
blasphemy Bob and Jack went their several ways; so did Clem and
Pennyloaf.
Poor Pennyloaf! Arrived at Shooter's Gardens, and having groped her
way blindly up to the black hole which was her wedding-chamber, she
just managed to light a candle, then sank down upon the bare floor
and wept. You could not have recognised her; her pretty face was all
blood and dirt.
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