The whole fight did not last two minutes. It was short, sharp, and, to sport-loving members of the crowd, very sweet. Certain pugilistic souls among the visitors to the Exhibition went home that night and dreamt about it. Many of the women, it is true, shuddered, and clutched convulsively at the arms of their male companions as Jim’s mighty hits went home and the policemen, by turn, bit the dust of the promenading ground, but quite a number watched the combat with bright, marvelling eyes, and lips parted half in admiration and half in horror. For Jim looked very handsome and terrible in his fighting wrath. One old gentleman who had come from his club dinner in evening dress to listen to the band, returned to St James’s Street chuckling with delight. Numbers of times he repeated to himself, "A bonny lad--a bonny lad!" and actually, instead of going home and to bed at a respectable hour, as an old gentleman of his years and gouty tendencies should have done, fought the battle over again at great length for the benefit of some other old club fogies, and finally had to be helped into a cab--at 2 A.M.--still chuckling with wicked joy. It was, of course, a tremendous output of nervous energy--accentuated by the spirits he had imbibed--on Jim’s part. It was a supreme effort, and died out suddenly. That smash over the hip--a policeman’s favourite aiming-point--from the truncheon numbed him strangely, and when he fell, his capture was an easy matter. There was no more fight left in him when they led him off--he would have gone with entire docility, indeed, without a hand being laid on him. Arrived at the police-station, he was conducted into the charge-room and placed in the narrow little dock facing the inspector’s desk. The inspector, a quiet-looking man, glanced up in a casual fashion and then proceeded with the writing on which he was employed when they entered. This done, he inquired what the charge was, and, on being informed of its nature in the curt, unadorned phraseology of the man in blue, entered the particulars on a charge-sheet that lay before him, and finally allowed Koko to bail his friend out for £2. Those who had witnessed the conflict would have been astonished by the inspector’s imperturbable, cool tone, as he asked his brief questions. It was regarded as a matter-of-course case--youthful "medical "--too much to drink--dispute with waiter--resisted police. All very ordinary--very matter-of-course--nothing out of the way. The inspector even said "Good-night, sir," as Jim left the charge-room with Koko; previously the inspector had gazed at the ceiling as Jim presented a sovereign to his two custodians, who also bade him a "Good-night, sir," in a manner which showed that they bore him not the slightest ill-will on account of the hard usage they had received at his hands.