"Here, old 'un, mind my toes," said the lad, not ill-temperedly, at the same time sticking out his elbow to ward off Noakes's obstructing bulk. His action was as a spark to powder. With the impulse of an angry, ill-conditioned man to vent his wrath on the nearest object, Noakes swung round and brought his umbrella heavily down upon the lad's shoulders.
"I'll learn you!" he cried, truculently.
The response was unexpected. Snatching up a prime cod by the tail, the lad dashed its head full in Noakes's face. Noakes winced at the cold, slimy contact, staggered, then lurched forward, raising his umbrella once more to strike. The lad was too quick for him. Dropping his basket, he wrenched the umbrella away, flung it into the gutter, and, squaring his shoulders, commenced that curious piston-like movement of the two arms which is the street boy's preliminary to a sparring bout. Suddenly his right fist shot out, and planted a blow in the man's midriff. A crowd quickly assembled.
"THE LAD DASHED ITS HEAD FULL IN NOAKES'S FACE."
"I say, d'you know that the gentleman you are assaulting is the Mayor of Pudlington?" said Eves, stepping up to the errand boy.
"Don't care who he is. He ain't going to hit me for nothing, not if he's the Lord Mayor."
But the sight of a burly policeman approaching from the corner of the street brought discretion. He picked up his basket and ran off, turning to give Noakes a parting salute with his thumb to his nose.
III
O'Reilly treated the two lads to what Eves described as a topping lunch, and afterwards spent half an hour in a close examination of the specification.