This brought the second jock into the fray.  He was a broad, thickset fellow, of the adorable bandy-legged stocky type that I had seen go through the Railway Triangle at Arras as though it were blotting-paper.  He had some notion of fighting, too, and gave me a rough time, for I had to keep edging the other fellow off Gresson.

‘Go home, you fool,’ I shouted.  ’Let this gentleman alone.  I don’t want to hurt you.’

The only answer was a hook-hit which I just managed to guard, followed by a mighty drive with his right which I dodged so that he barked his knuckles on the wall.  I heard a yell of rage, and observed that Gresson seemed to have kicked his assailant on the shin.  I began to long for the police.

Then there was that swaying of the crowd which betokens the approach of the forces of law and order.  But they were too late to prevent trouble.  In self-defence I had to take my jock seriously, and got in my blow when he had overreached himself and lost his balance.  I never hit anyone so unwillingly in my life.  He went over like a poled ox, and measured his length on the causeway.

I found myself explaining things politely to the constables.  ’These men objected to this gentleman’s speech at the meeting, and I had to interfere to protect him.  No, no!  I don’t want to charge anybody.  It was all a misunderstanding.’  I helped the stricken jock to rise and offered him ten bob for consolation.

He looked at me sullenly and spat on the ground.  ’Keep your dirty money,’ he said.  ’I’ll be even with ye yet, my man—­you and that red-headed scab.  I’ll mind the looks of ye the next time I see ye.’

Gresson was wiping the blood from his cheek with a silk handkerchief.  ‘I guess I’m in your debt, Mr Brand,’ he said.  ’You may bet I won’t forget it.’

* * * * *

I returned to an anxious Amos.  He heard my story in silence and his only comment was—­’Well done the Fusiliers!’

‘It might have been worse, I’ll not deny,’ he went on.  ’Ye’ve established some kind of a claim upon Gresson, which may come in handy . . .  Speaking about Gresson, I’ve news for ye.  He’s sailing on Friday as purser in the Tobermory.  The Tobermory’s a boat that wanders every month up the West Highlands as far as Stornoway.  I’ve arranged for ye to take a trip on that boat, Mr Brand.’

I nodded.  ‘How did you find out that?’ I asked.

‘It took me some finding,’ he said dryly, ’but I’ve ways and means.  Now I’ll not trouble ye with advice, for ye ken your job as well as me.  But I’m going north myself the morn to look after some of the Ross-shire wuds, and I’ll be in the way of getting telegrams at the Kyle.  Ye’ll keep that in mind.  Keep in mind, too, that I’m a great reader of the Pilgrim’s Progress and that I’ve a cousin of the name of Ochterlony.’

CHAPTER FIVE