'It's not my name' breathed Mr Shute, tenderly. 'Call me Clarence.'
Considered as an embrace, it was imperfect. At these moments a silk
hat a size too small handicaps a man. The necessity of having to be
careful about the nap prevented Mr Shute from doing himself complete
justice. But he did enough to induce Arthur Welsh, who, having sighted
the missing ones from afar, had been approaching them at a walking
pace, to substitute a run for the walk, and arrive just as Maud
wrenched herself free.
Mr Shute took off his hat, smoothed it, replaced it with extreme care,
and turned his attention to the new-comer.
'Arthur!' said Maud.
Her heart gave a great leap. There was no mistaking the meaning in the
eye that met hers. He cared! He cared!
'Arthur!'
He took no notice. His face was pale and working. He strode up to Mr
Shute.
'Well?' he said between his teeth.
An eight-stone-four champion of the world has many unusual experiences
in his life, but he rarely encounters men who say 'Well?' to him
between their teeth. Mr Shute eyed this freak with profound wonder.
'I'll teach you to--to kiss young ladies!'
Mr Shute removed his hat again and gave it another brush. This gave him
the necessary time for reflection.
'I don't need it,' he said. 'I've graduated.'
'Put them up!' hissed Arthur.
Almost a shocked look spread itself over the pugilist's face. So might
Raphael have looked if requested to draw a pavement-picture.
'You aren't speaking to ME?' he said, incredulously.
'Put them up!'
Maud, trembling from head to foot, was conscious of one overwhelming
emotion. She was terrified--yes. But stronger than the terror was the
great wave of elation which swept over her. All her doubts had
vanished. At last, after weary weeks of uncertainty, Arthur was about
to give the supreme proof. He was going to joust for her.
A couple of passers-by had paused, interested, to watch developments.
You could never tell, of course. Many an apparently promising row never
got any farther than words. But, glancing at Arthur's face, they
certainly felt justified in pausing. Mr Shute spoke.
'If it wasn't,' he said, carefully, 'that I don't want trouble with the
Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, I'd--'
He broke off, for, to the accompaniment of a shout of approval from the
two spectators, Arthur had swung his right fist, and it had taken him
smartly on the side of the head.
Compared with the blows Mr Shute was wont to receive in the exercise of
his profession, Arthur's was a gentle tap. But there was one
circumstance which gave it a deadliness all its own. Achilles had his
heel. Mr Shute's vulnerable point was at the other extremity. Instead
of countering, he uttered a cry of agony, and clutched wildly with both
hands at his hat.
He was too late. It fell to the ground and bounded away, with its
proprietor in passionate chase. Arthur snorted and gently chafed his
knuckles.
There was a calm about Mr Shute's demeanour as, having given his
treasure a final polish and laid it carefully down, he began to advance
on his adversary, which was more than ominous. His lips were a thin
line of steel. The muscles stood out over his jaw-bones. Crouching in
his professional manner, he moved forward softly, like a cat.
And it was at this precise moment, just as the two spectators,
reinforced now by eleven other men of sporting tastes, were
congratulating themselves on their acumen in having stopped to watch,
that Police-Constable Robert Bryce, intruding fourteen stones of bone
and muscle between the combatants, addressed to Mr Shute these
memorable words: ''Ullo, 'ullo! 'Ullo, 'ullo, 'ul-_lo_!'
Mr Shute appealed to his sense of justice.
'The mutt knocked me hat off.'
'And I'd do it again,' said Arthur, truculently.
'Not while I'm here you wouldn't, young fellow,' said Mr Bryce, with
decision. 'I'm surprised at you,' he went on, pained. 'And you look a
respectable young chap, too. You pop off.'
A shrill voice from the crowd at this point offered the constable all
cinematograph rights if he would allow the contest to proceed.
'And you pop off, too, all of you,' continued Mr Bryce. 'Blest if I
know what kids are coming to nowadays. And as for you,' he said,
addressing Mr Shute, 'all you've got to do is to keep that face of
yours closed. That's what you've got to do. I've got my eye on you,
mind, and if I catch you a-follerin' of him'--he jerked his thumb over
his shoulder at Arthur's departing figure--'I'll pinch you. Sure as
you're alive.' He paused. 'I'd have done it already,' he added,
pensively, 'if it wasn't me birthday.'
* * * * *
Arthur Welsh turned sharply. For some time he had been dimly aware that
somebody was calling his name.
'Oh, Arthur!'
She was breathing quickly. He could see the tears in her eyes.
'I've been running. You walked so fast.'
He stared down at her gloomily.
'Go away,' he said. 'I've done with you.'
She clutched at his coat.
'Arthur, listen--listen! It's all a mistake. I thought you--you didn't
care for me any more, and I was miserable, and I wrote to the paper and
asked what should I do, and they said I ought to test you and try and
make you jealous, and that that would relieve my apprehensions. And I
hated it, but I did it, and you didn't seem to care till now. And you
know that there's nobody but you.'
'You--The paper? What?' he stammered.
'Yes, yes, yes. I wrote to _Fireside Chat_, and Dr Cupid said that
when jealousy flew out of the window indifference came in at the door,
and that I must exhibit pleasure in the society of other gentlemen and
mark your demeanour. So I--Oh!'
Arthur, luckier than Mr Shute, was not hampered by a too small silk
hat.
It was a few moments later, as they moved slowly towards the
Flip-Flap--which had seemed to both of them a fitting climax for
the evening's emotions--that Arthur, fumbling in his waist-coat pocket,
produced a small slip of paper.
'What's that?' Maud asked.
'Read it,' said Arthur. 'It's from _Home Moments_, in answer to a
letter I sent them. And,' he added with heat, 'I'd like to have five
minutes alone with the chap who wrote it.'