“Gown to the rescue!” shouted Mr. Bouncer, as he dashed across the street.  “Come on, Pet!  Here we are in the thick of it, just in the nick of time!”

Poor Mr. Verdant Green had never learnt to box.  He was a lover of peace and quietness, and would have preferred to have watched the battle from a college window; but he had been drawn in the fray against his will by Mr. Bouncer.  He now rushed into the scrimmage with no idea of fighting, and a valiant bargee singled him out as an easy prey, and aimed a heavy blow at him.  Instinctively doubling his fists, Mr. Verdant Green found that necessity was indeed the mother of invention; and, with a passing thought of what would be his mother’s and his maiden aunt’s feelings could they see him fighting with a common bargeman, he managed to guard off the blow.  But he was not so fortunate in the second round, for the bargee knocked him down, but was happily knocked down in turn by the Putney Pet.  The language of this gentle and refined scholar had become very peculiar.

“There’s a squelcher for you, my kivey,” he said to the bargee, as he sent him sprawling.  Then, turning round, he asked a townsman:  “What do you charge for a pint of Dutch pink?” following up the question by striking him on the nose.

Unused to being questioned in this violent way, the town party at last turned and fled, and the gownsmen went in search of other foes to conquer.  Even Mr. Verdant Green felt desperately courageous when the town took to their heels and vanished.

At Exeter College another town-and-gown fight was raging furiously.  The town mob had come across the Senior Proctor, the Rev. Thomas Tozer; and while Old Towzer, as he was called, was trying to assert his proctorial authority over them, they had jeered him, and torn his clothes, and bespattered him with mud.  A small group of gownsmen rushed to his rescue.

“Oh, this is painful,” said the Rev. Thomas Tozer, putting the handkerchief to his bleeding nose.  “This is painful!  This is exceedingly painful, gentlemen!”

He was at once surrounded by sympathising undergraduates, who begged him to allow them to charge the town at once.  But the Town far outnumbered the Gown, and, in spite of the assistance of the reverend proctor, the fight was going against them.  The Rev. Thomas Tozer had just been knocked down for the first time in his life, and the cry of “Gown to the rescue!” fell very pleasantly on his ears.  Mr. Verdant Green helped him to rise, while the Putney Pet stepped before him and struck out right and left.  Ten minutes of scientific pugilism, and the fate of the battle was decided.  The Town fled every way, and the Rev. Thomas Tozer was at last able to look calmly about him.  He at once resumed his proctorial duties.

“Why have you not on your gown, sir?” he said to the Putney Pet.

“I ax yer pardon, guv’nor,” said the Pet deferentially.  “I couldn’t get on in it, nohow.  So I pocketed it; but some cove has gone and prigged it.”