Ern hammered on the door.
Alf peeped out of an upper window, upset a jug of water over his brother, and in his panic fury flung the jug after it. It broke on Ernie's head and crashed to pieces on the step.
Ernie, gasping, and bleeding from the head, staggered back into the road, half-stunned. Then he began to tear off his sopping clothes and throw them down into the dust at his feet. His voice was quiet as his face, smeared with blood, was moved.
"You've got to ave it!" he called up to his brother. "May as well come and ave it now as wait for it."
There had been a big football match on the Saffrons, and the crowd were just flocking away, in mood for a lark. The drenched and bleeding man stripping in the road, the broken crockery on the door-step, the white-faced fellow at the window, promised just the sensation they sought. Joyfully they gathered to see. Here was just the right finale pleasant Saturday afternoon.
"I'm your landlord!" screamed Alf. "Remember that! I'll make you pay for this!"
"Will you?" answered Ernie, truculent and cool. "Then I'll have my money's worth first."
This heroic sentiment was loudly applauded by the crowd, who felt an added sympathy for Ern now they knew he was attacking his landlord, one of a class loathed by all good men.
Just then Joe Burt emerged from the crowd and took the tumultuous figure of Ernie in his arms.
"Coom, then!" he said. "This'll never do for a Labour Leader. This isna the Highway you should be trampin along."