It was a masterly white flag. “Had enough?” George panted. “Had enough? Are you whipped, you swine?” Bob assiduously brushed. “When you're better, let me know,” George cried; turned and hurried up the path whither Mary had disappeared. The forced draught of fury, pain, and exertion sent Bob's breath roaring in and out in noisy blasts--now long and laboured, now spasmodic quick. He examined his bill of health and damage. Face everywhere tender to the touch; clothes dust-covered and torn; both knees of trousers rent; silk hat stove in when in a backward rush he had set his foot upon it. His tongue discovered a broken tooth, his handkerchief a bleeding nose, his fingers blood upon his chin, trickling to his shirt front. So well as might be he brushed his person; straightened his hat; clapped handkerchief to his mouth; past staring eyes, grinning faces, hurried out of the Park to bury himself in a cab. V. From a window Mrs. Chater saw the bruised figure of her darling boy alight; with palpitating heart rushed to greet him. “Bob! My boy! My boy! What has happened?” Her boy brushed past; bounded to his room. Laboriously, sick with fear, the devoted mother toiled in pursuit--found him in his room tearing off his coat. “My boy! My boy!” Her boy bellowed: “_Hot water!_” Can a mother's tender care cease towards the child she bare? Oh! needless to ask such a question, you for whom is pictured this devoted woman plunging at breakneck speed for the bathroom, screaming as she runs: “Susan! Kate! Jane! Jane! Kate! Susan!” Doors slammed, cries echoed, stairs shook, as trembling servants rushed responsive. Crashing of cans, rushing of water, called them to the bathroom. “Oh, m'am! What is it?” Water flew in sprays as the agonised mother tested its temperature with her hands; cans rattled as she kicked them from where, in dragging one from the shelf, the others had clattered about her feet. Jane, Kate, and Susan clustered in alarm about the door: “Oh, m'am! M'am! Whatever is it?” Mrs. Chater gave no reply. Her can full, she plunged through them. This way and that they dodged to give her passage; dodge for dodge, demented, hysterical, she gave them--slopping boiling water on to agonised toes; bursting through at last; thundering up the stairs. The three plunged after her: “Oh, m'am! M'am! Whatever is it?” The devoted woman paused at the head of the stairs; screamed down orders: “Sticking-plaster! Lint! Cotton-wool! Mr. Bob has had an accident! Hot-water bottles! Ice! Doctor! Go for the doctor, one of you!” A figure with battered face above vest and pants bounded from its room. “No!” Bob roared. “No!” “No!” Mrs. Chater echoed, not knowing to what the negative applied, but hysterically commanding it. “No!” screamed the agitated servants, one to another. “No! no doctor!” bellowed Bob; grabbed the can from his mother; shot back to his room. “No doctor!” Mrs. Chater screamed to the white-faced pack upon the stairs; fled after him.