She held John from a nervous breakdown. She took him for lone walks and encouraged him to talk. He found his idea of going to London to write, eagerly supported. What to write he hardly knew. Miss Piggin suggested journalism. She had met quite a lot of journalists near her rooms at Hampstead. They seemed very jolly and not hard-worked. It was true they had small private incomes or self-sacrificing parents. She gave John the address of a boarding house in Pimlico. If he went to London, he would find it cheap but not nasty. It was on one of these walks one day an incident occurred that thrilled her with a revelation of the male in action. They were on a narrow and muddy road when a cart came into view, with a red-faced youth lolling on the top of a load. Although there was no space for the two walkers to stand in, he drove his cart forward, jamming them up against the wall and spattering them with mud. Miss Piggin gave a cry of despair at the sight of her muddy skirt. With a quick movement John ran to the horse's head, seized the rein and pulled up the cart. "Why don't you look where you are going?" he shouted angrily. The lout blinked at him. "Shut yer ---- mouth." John flushed and tightened his grip. "You'll get down and apologise to the lady," he said firmly. Another flow of indecent language. "Let go that ---- rein!" finished the carter. "I shall not. Come down!" retorted John. The carter raised his whip and brought the lash down across John's shoulders and neck. The horse reared, John started forward, seized the dangling leg of his aggressor, and brought him sprawling down into the muddy road. He was up in a minute bellowing obscenely with rage. John dodged the blow directed at his mouth. "I'll fight yer! I'll fight yer, yer--" yelled the carter stamping around. John slipped off his coat and waistcoat; the carter followed suit. "Oh, Mr. Dean, please, please!" implored Miss Piggin from the mound on which she had taken refuge. John's answer was to fling his discarded clothes into her arms. She looked around, meaning to shriek, but as no one was in sight it seemed useless. Meanwhile the battle had begun. The antagonists were as different in appearance as they were in method. The carter was a heavily built youth of about twenty. He was sandy-haired with a tanned face and neck. His arms were muscular, and the gaping shirt revealed a hairy chest. He was a fellow not likely to be knocked out, especially by the lightly built, slim youth, who looked almost delicate in contrast.