"'Ere, mate," began the traffic-expert to the smaller of the two navvies, "just ketch that boy of yours a clip on the side of the 'ead, will you?" The smaller man desisted from his labours in the hole. "Wotsye, ole sport?" he inquired cheerily. The policeman was a little ruffled by this familiarity. "I'll trouble _you_," he repeated with some hauteur, "to ketch that boy of yours a clip on the side of the 'ead. If not, I shall 'ave to do my duty, according----" Here the roar of a passing dray drowned his utterance. The smaller man clambered nimbly out of the hole and proceeded to grab his young friend by the scruff of the neck. "Billy," he remarked dispassionately, "this gentleman says as 'ow I'm to give you a clip on the side of the 'ead." "Woffor," inquired Billy, simulating extreme terror. The man passed the question on to the policeman, who explained the nature of the offence. His statement was voluntarily corroborated by several members of an audience which seemed to have materialised from nowhere, and now formed a ring round the encampment. "Righto!" said the man with cheery acquiescence. "Billy, my lad, you've got to 'ave it." "Tha's right, ole son! You give 'im socks," remarked a hoarse and rather indistinct voice of the gin-and-fog variety, from among the spectators. Simultaneously its owner lurched his way to the front rank, the others making room for him with that respectful sympathy, not unmixed with envy, which is always accorded to a true-born Briton in his condition. He was obviously a member of some profession connected with coal-dust, and it was plain that he had been celebrating the conclusion of his day's labours. The smaller navvy, thus exhorted, administered the desired clip. It was not a particularly severe one, but it drew from its recipient the somewhat unexpected expostulation-- "You silly ass! Not so hard!" Where had I heard that stentorian but childish voice before? Who was this road-breaker's acolyte, with his brazier, his dirty face, and--a public-school accent? I leaned over the balustrade and surveyed him and his two companions. Then I drew my breath sharply. Merciful heavens! The dirty-faced boy was my brother-in-law, Master Gerald Rubislaw, the clip-administerer was Dicky Lever, and the gigantic and taciturn navvy was--my Secretary! Having witnessed the carrying-out of the sentence, the policeman returned to his duties; none too soon; for a furniture van and a butcher's cart, locked in an inextricable embrace, the subject of a sulphurous duet between their respective proprietors, called loudly for his attention. Meanwhile Coaldust, who had been inspecting the result of our friends' united labours with some interest, suddenly echoed the question which had first exercised Champion's logical mind by inquiring what the blank dash the two adjectival criminals and the qualified nipper thought they were doing to the asterisked road.