“Yes. Braunt, who was kicked out, is one of the best workmen in the factory, but very hot-tempered. He lost control of himself last night, under strong provocation, and when he was outside tried to batter in the door. The police interfered, and he knocked down three of them. This was disastrous, for he was fined five pounds this morning, and I have been trying to raise the money so that he need not go to prison; but we are in the minority--he exasperated our fellow-workmen--and I am not getting on well with the subscription list.” Barney sprang to his feet. “Knocked down three, did he? Goodman. That’s something like. It’s a most deplorable trait in my character that I somehow enjoy an assault on the police, and yet I recognize the general usefulness of the force. Five pounds did you say? Then there will be the costs; I don’t understand much about these things, but I believe there are usually costs, on the principle of adding insult to injury, I suppose. Will a ten-pound note see him through? Good. Here it is. Three-pound-odd a policeman is not expensive when you think how much some of the luxuries here below cost, don’t you know. No thanks, Marsten, I beg of you; it’s a pleasure, I assure you.” As Marsten took the money a servant came in and said in a low voice: “Simpson wants to know if he may go, sir.” “Bless me, yes. I thought he had gone long ago. Simpson is my ornamental six-footer at the head of the stair; perhaps you noticed him as you came in. Poor fellow, he’s not allowed to do anything but stand there and look pretty, so I suppose it gets wearisome. Imagine such boy-stood-on-the-burning-deck devotion at this end of the nineteenth century! I had forgotten him, absorbed in your interesting conversation. Well, Marsten, I’m sorry I can’t arbitrate, but drop in again, and let me know how things go on. Good afternoon!” CHAPTER X.