I felt his hand steal to his side-pocket. “Let that alone, you fool,” I growled in his ear.
“Sure, mister,” he said, and the next second we were in the thick of it.
It was like so many street fights I have seen—an immense crowd which surged up around us, and yet left a clear ring. Gresson and I got against the wall on the side-walk, and faced the furious soldiery. My intention was to do as little as possible, but the first minute convinced me that my companion had no idea how to use his fists, and I was mortally afraid that he would get busy with the gun in his pocket. It was that fear that brought me into the scrap. The jocks were sportsmen every bit of them, and only one advanced to the combat. He hit Gresson a clip on the jaw with his left, and but for the wall would have laid him out. I saw in the lamplight the vicious gleam in the American’s eye and the twitch of his hand to his pocket. That decided me to interfere and I got in front of him.
This brought the second jock into the fray. He was a broad, thickset fellow, of the adorable bandy-legged stocky type that I had seen go through the Railway Triangle at Arras as though it were blotting-paper. He had some notion of fighting, too, and gave me a rough time, for I had to keep edging the other fellow off Gresson.
“Go home, you fool,” I shouted. “Let this gentleman alone. I don’t want to hurt you.”
The only answer was a hook-hit which I just managed to guard, followed by a mighty drive with his right which I dodged so that he barked his knuckles on the wall. I heard a yell of rage, and observed that Gresson seemed to have kicked his assailant on the shin. I began to long for the police.
Then there was that swaying of the crowd which betokens the approach of the forces of law and order. But they were too late to prevent trouble. In self-defence I had to take my jock seriously, and got in my blow when he had overreached himself and lost his balance. I never hit anyone so unwillingly in my life. He went over like a poled ox, and measured his length on the causeway.
I found myself explaining things politely to the constables. “These men objected to this gentleman’s speech at the meeting, and I had to interfere to protect him. No, no! I don’t want to charge anybody. It was all a misunderstanding.” I helped the stricken jock to rise and offered him ten bob for consolation.
He looked at me sullenly and spat on the ground. “Keep your dirty money,” he said. “I’ll be even with ye yet, my man—you and that red-headed scab. I’ll mind the looks of ye the next time I see ye.”
Gresson was wiping the blood from his cheek with a silk handkerchief. “I guess I’m in your debt, Mr Brand,” he said. “You may bet I won’t forget it.”