"It's no fair fighting," added another.
"Shut up, all of you!" angrily cried a harsh-voiced man—clearly one in authority—as he elbowed his way to the front. "Do you want to bring the police down on us?"
The warning had a prompt effect, and comparative silence ensued. The injured man tried to rise, but his potations had weakened him more than the loss of blood.
"Where's the bloke what hit me?" he feebly demanded.
His maudlin speech and woe-begone manner roused Jack's sympathy. He knelt down beside him, and made a brief examination.
"It's nothing serious—the bottle glanced off," he said. "Fetch water and a sponge, and I'll soon stop the bleeding. Who has a bit of plaster?"
No sponge was to be had, but a basin of water was quickly produced. Jack tore his handkerchief in two and wet part of it. He was about to begin operations when a hand tapped him on the shoulder and a familiar voice pronounced his name.