“Wot do I know?” he repeated, with blazing eyes. “I know the terruth. That’s wot I know. I say ’er wealth ’as bin stole aout o’ the maouths of starvin’ baibes. The widder an’ the orphin ’as bin robbed to——” “An’ I say you’re a liar,” roared Bob. Ada began to cry, and Aunt Harriet laid a hand upon Bob’s arm. He shook her off. Everyone was on their feet. Uncle Tom was at Allen’s shoulder. Trembling in every limb, Ann clung to the back of her chair. Bob continued furiously. “She never robbed nor stole in all ’er life. Nor ’er father before ’er. It’s easy enough for those as don’ want to work to ’oller an’ carry on ’cause there’s dukes an’ earls ooze fathers ’ve made good an’ saved, instead o’ blindin’ their money at the nearest pub.” Mr. Allen surged forward, blaring. “I’m a liar, am I?” he mouthed. “Jus’ ’cause I’m not afraid to strip the troof? She never stole, nor ’er father? P’r’aps not. You wouldn’ ’ave no call to steal if your gran’father ’d bin a thief . . . an’ murdered an’ stole an’ saved so as she could ’ave a Rolls-Royce to ’ide ’er nakedness.” Bob hit him on the mouth. . . . Uncle Tom was between them—shouting. He had Mr. Allen round the waist. The two were lurching and struggling violently. Mr. Allen was cursing in a thick guttural. Blood was welling from his lip. Black in the face with rage, Bob was labouring fiercely to shake himself free. Ann, frantic, was hanging on his arm, beseeching him to come away. Aunt Harriet, who had been something of an expert and knew that dead weight told, lay upon his breast with her arms round his neck. Ada, whimpering, had him by the coat. Finger to lip, May watched the affray with gleaming eyes. Remembering her husband’s prowess as an indifferent heavy-weight, Mrs. Allen regarded Ann with a supercilious stare. “Get ’im away!” yelled Uncle Tom. “Out o’ the room—upstairs! Now then, Joe. Don’ lose yer dignity. ’E’ll be sorry to-morrer.” “’E’ll be sorry ternight,” howled Mr. Allen. “You saw ’im strike me. You saw——” “Yes, I saw,” shouted Uncle Tom. “But, you know, you arst fer trouble, Joe. You ’adn’t got no call to make it personal. Never min’. You siddown an’ ’ave a drink.” He screwed his head round. “Will you get ’im away?” he raved. “I ain’t a ’Ercules.” “Oh, Bob, Bob!” wailed Ann. “Bob, for God’s sake come away. Surely, if I don’t mind, whyever should you? What does it matter? We know it isn’t true. Bob, if you love me, leave him and come away.” Bob never heard her. “’E’s insulted my wife,” he raged. “You ’eard ’im. That dirty red-nosed skunk ’as laid ’is tongue to my girl. Lemme go, Aunt ’Arriet. I tell you, it’s me or ’im. An’——” Ann’s voice rang out. “D’you want to kill me? D’you want me to die of shame?” Her husband stopped struggling and turned. “Look ’ere, kid,” he expostulated. “You can’t expec’ me to sit still an’ ’ear——” “You haven’t. You’ve hit him on the mouth. And I say that’s enough—_I_ say so.” The pronoun stood up above the uproar.