"I'm drunk, am I!" he roared. "Tike that!" His fist shot out, and, landing somewhere in the neighbourhood of the barman's right eye, drove that gentleman across the bar with such velocity that he struck the counter close to us with considerable force. "That's for yer cheek," observed the navvy in the voice of one whose honour has been satisfied. The remaining customers, with the honourable exception of Billy Borndrunk, rose hastily to their feet, and a chorus of criticism filled the tavern. "Serve 'im right!" "Shut yer 'ead!" "Don't be a fool, Bill!" "Hit him back!" This last from George. I remembered the barman's boast, and was silent in pleasant expectation. To my intense disappointment, however, the blow seemed to have cowed him. He pulled himself together and slowly retraced his steps, holding his hand up to his face. "You 'adn't no call to 'it me like that," he began reproachfully. "What's your order?" "Pot o' 'arf-an'-'arf; and when I comes in 'ere again, per'aps ye'll be a bit more perlite--see?" The navvy leaned across the counter and grinned derisively. He never grinned again--at least, not under similar circumstances. With amazing swiftness the barman whipped out a large pewter pot from under the counter and struck him a swinging blow across the face, sending him to the floor with a thud that shook the building. "That's for _your_ cheek," he remarked. Then he coolly picked up the cloth and began to polish the tankard. "That's the worst o' them dirty faces," he observed. "Spoils the silver." An awe-struck silence fell upon us all, while the navvy rose up slowly with the brand of can upon his cheek. I do not know how to spell the words, or I would tell you what he said. When he had done the barman eyed him critically. "I ain't got much time to spare for pleasure," he replied, "but if yer likes to step round to the yard be'ind, we'll give that there mark a bit o' company." The navvy's eyes glistened, and the whole tavern, with the exception of Billy Borndrunk, rose joyously to the suggestion. The barman walked to the side door and called his wife. "Annie," he said, "just look after the bar while I show these gen'lemen our backyard." We all trooped out, leaving Billy Borndrunk in sole possession. It seemed a shame that he should miss the fight, but it would have taken some hours to wake him up, and by that time everything would have been over. Outside we were joined by two or three stray inhabitants of Chelsea, who had been busily engaged in their usual strenuous work of leaning over the railings and spitting in the Thames. Scenting a welcome diversion, they lounged up and listened with philosophic calm to the navvy's lurid descriptions of how he was about to operate upon his opponent.