“I hardly know, Prescott. I feel too restless to sit still, and a theatre would be just as bad. What with drives, and dinners, and parties, and a constant state of light skirmishing when I was with Katie, and an extreme amount of thought and restlessness when I was alone, I have been kept in a state of constant excitement for the last three weeks. I was always wondering whether anything would come of it; whether it was a mere case of strong flirtation, such as I have been engaged in fifty times before, or whether I was seriously in earnest. And then at last I arrived at the fixed and settled determination that of all the women I ever met, Katie was the one most certain to make me perfectly happy. Altogether I have been regularly worked up, and it would be quite impossible for me to sit still. I want something to let off the steam. A row would suit me admirably. It would be an immense satisfaction to hit out from the shoulder. Suppose we go to the ‘Stunners.’ There is sure to be some sparring going on; and if there's no one else, I can put on the gloves with Perkins. What do you say, Prescott?” “Anything you like, Frank, so that I am not called upon to bail you out.” So after dinner they went up to the “Lively Stunners.” The “Stunners” was a public-house, situated in one of the small streets lying above the top of the Haymarket. Not an aristocratic neighbourhood, indeed the reverse; but the “Stunners” did a good business, as even Perkins was ready to allow. Perkins was behind the bar in his shirt-sleeves, and was very busy indeed when the young men entered. “Ah, Mr. Maynard, I am glad to see you, sir.” “How are you, Perkins? Anything going on upstairs?” “Not much, sir. It's not the night for sparring. We've got harmony to-night, sir.” “I want a set-to with the gloves, Perkins. What do you say?” “Well, sir, I should be willing enough, but I am going out for a spree. Just the thing to suit you if you are in the humour.” “What is it, Perkins?” “Well, sir, you must keep it dark, or it wouldn't do me any good in my business; but the Slogger and I are going,”—and here he bent over the bar with an air of great mystery,—“we're going to a Chartist meeting to-night. The Slogger knows a fellow who is hot about it, and he's put him up to the pass-word. So we're going, and if you and Mr. Prescott are game, you can go with us. We can easily get up a row if we like, and it's hard if us four can't fight our way out of it.” “The very thing, Perkins; as you say, it's hard if we can't get up a row somehow. What do you say, Prescott?” “Anything you like, Frank. A black eye will not look strictly professional, but as I have no case on in court it won't much matter. I have not used my fists since that last town and gown row we were in together at Cambridge; and I have no objection to a row for once in a way.”