"Open them big doors," Bounce requested, "so as I won't 'ave to push 'im through the window."
The two men stood facing each other with smiling, confident faces. The big man stretched out a hand that would have supplied a whole cannibal tribe with a substantial meal. "Are you coming quiet?" he asked.
"No! I ain't," Bounce answered, circling slowly round him.
The whole works watched in eagerness.
Suddenly the big man made a short rush and a grab, but Bounce was not there; instead he had dived at the policeman's legs and pulled him down. He made another grab as he was falling, but the sailor was like an eel. He dodged, and slipping round to the back of him, took a grip with both hands on the policeman's collar. "Open them doors," he shouted, shuffling backwards and dragging the big man all along the dirty floor.
The entire staff, on the broad grin, lined the doorway, as Bounce dragged his burden through and deposited it on the pavement. Then he stood up and tossed his shoulders with a jaunty, nautical air. "Now, my lad, you run away, and play with the nurse-maids," he said.
In angry silence the policeman reached out for his helmet and coat; Darwen slipped half a crown into his hand, and he went out into the night, tramping sullenly along his beat.
Bounce beamed and pocketed his five shillings. "Them big blokes ain't never no use," he said. "Five minutes to twelve? Good night, sir!" He departed. But Darwen sat down on the edge of the table.
"Wonderful chap, Bounce." They chatted for some minutes, then dropped into silence. Darwen broke it.
"For God's sake, Carstairs, don't go and do anything silly over that gipsy girl. It would break your poor old guv'nor's heart; he was holding forth to me, when you were out, about how very careful a young man ought to be to avoid awkward entanglements: you were so very steady, he said. I think he rather fancied I was not so steady. 'Young men fly into an engagement with a girl because she sings nicely or something superficial like that.' Does the gipsy sing?" Darwen laughed.