Mr. Gunnill, obviously relieved, said that he ought to be more careful, and pointed out, with some feeling, that a lot of mischief was caused that way. “Cooper wants a lesson, that’s what he wants,” said Mr. Sims, valiantly. “He’ll get his head broke one of these days.” Mr. Gunnill acquiesced. “I remember when I was on the _Peewit_,” he said, musingly, “one time when we were lying at Cardiff, there was a policeman there run one of our chaps in, and two nights afterward another of our chaps pushed the policeman down in the mud and ran off with his staff and his helmet.” Miss Gunnill’s eyes glistened. “What happened?” she inquired. “He had to leave the force,” replied her father; “he couldn’t stand the disgrace of it. The chap that pushed him over was quite a little chap, too. About the size of Herbert here.” Mr. Sims started. “Very much like him in face, too,” pursued Mr. Gunnill; “daring chap he was.” Miss Gunnill sighed. “I wish he lived in Little-stow,” she said, slowly. “I’d give anything to take that horrid Mrs. Cooper down a bit. Cooper would be the laughing-stock of the town.” Messrs. Sims and Drill looked unhappy. It was hard to have to affect an attitude of indifference in the face of Miss Gunnill’s lawless yearnings; to stand before her as respectable and law-abiding cravens. Her eyes, large and sorrowful; dwelt on them both. “If I—I only get a chance at Cooper!” murmured Mr. Sims, vaguely. To his surprise, Mr. Gunnill started up from his chair and, gripping his hand, shook it fervently. He looked round, and Selina was regarding him with a glance so tender that he lost his head completely. Before he had recovered he had pledged himself to lay the helmet and truncheon of the redoubtable Mr. Cooper at the feet of Miss Gunnill; exact date not specified. “Of course, I shall have to wait my opportunity,” he said, at last. “You wait as long as you like, my boy,” said the thoughtless Mr. Gunnill. Mr. Sims thanked him. “Wait till Cooper’s an old man,” urged Mr. Drill. Miss Gunnill, secretly disappointed at the lack of boldness and devotion on the part of the latter gentleman, eyed his stalwart frame indignantly and accused him of trying to make Mr. Sims as timid as himself. She turned to the valiant Sims and made herself so agreeable to that daring blade that Mr. Drill, a prey to violent jealousy, bade the company a curt good-night and withdrew. He stayed away for nearly a week, and then one evening as he approached the house, carrying a carpet-bag, he saw the door just opening to admit the fortunate Herbert. He quickened his pace and arrived just in time to follow him in. Mr. Sims, who bore under his arm a brown-paper parcel, seemed somewhat embarrassed at seeing him, and after a brief greeting walked into the room, and with a triumphant glance at Mr. Gunnill and Selina placed his burden on the table. [Illustration] “You—you ain’t got it?” said Mr. Gunnill, leaning forward.