The bacon frier was half a head taller and a deal bigger than the birds’-nest seller; but the latter had pluck. He rushed at his assailant and gave him a straightforward blow on the mouth, which astonished the young bully.
“Well done. Bravo, little’un!” cried a dozen voices. “Give it him right from the shoulder.”
A ring was formed, and the two lads went to work in real earnest.
Alf Purvis received several ugly knocks; but he was so agile and rapid in his movements that in a few minutes his antagonist’s face bore unmistakable marks of the other’s blows.
At length the young bird’s nest seller rushed in and gave the bacon frier a floorer.
“We’ve had enough of this,” cried a man, in a velveteen jacket. “Stop it—stow it, I say. If you don’t, blow me if I don’t give the pair of you a thrashing.”
The combatants were separated, and peace was proclaimed. Alf was declared victor.
Two women were seated in one corner of the room; their dress and demeanour denoted that they were merely visitors, who had been attracted to the spot by curiosity or some other motive.
One of them was quite young and extremely good-looking, the other was elderly.
They had both been witnesses of the short but decisive battle between the two boys.