might look. "Half a pint it is," said one of the onlookers, and the rat-catcher immediately put his hand to his mouth, wrinkled back his lips, and with his long white teeth bit off the rat's head. A chorus of laughter and chuckling greeted this exploit, which the rat-catcher repeated twice more and then passed up his glass tankard to be filled. But at the wooden counter behind which the drinks were served a quarrel seemed upon the point of breaking out. Two men were standing close together, their faces thrust forward, staring into each other's eyes. One was George Birkett, our chief bellringer. His big face was flushed with drink, but not a muscle upon it quivered as he stared before him. His jaw was thrust out, his eyes narrowed, and by his side I could see his fist clenched. Scarcely moving his lips, he pronounced the words "Say that again, you bastard," and people in the immediate vicinity stopped talking to look in an interested but somewhat embarrassed manner towards the scene of the dispute. The man facing George was a small man whom I had not seen before. Someone whispered that he was attached to the ground staff at the aerodrome. He was black-haired, pale-faced, and some dark stubble was clinging to his chin, although the sides of his face were cleanly shaved. He, too, had thrust his head forward, and was staring contemptuously at George, with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. "All right," he said slowly, "I will say it again." I saw the muscles on George's arm tighten, but the little man, as he was speaking his last words, had dashed his glass tankard against the top of the counter; then, holding the broken mug by the bottom he had thrust the jagged glass into George's face. At once he ducked down and ran for the door which he reached before anyone had thought of stopping him. George wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. His face was running with blood, and he plunged forward with something in his demeanour that reminded me of Slazenger, the prize bull, at the moment when the Flight-Lieutenant had jumped upon his back. Mac, who was standing near me, shouted: "Stop him!" and flung his arms round George's waist. I and one or two others joined in, but it was a difficult matter to keep George under restraint and finally to persuade him to sit down again and let his face be washed. "We'll get that little swine," we all said. "Have a drink, George?" But it was some time before anything like quiet had been restored to the bar and, before this happened, Mr Crosby had entered from his shop and had threatened to call in the police. Mac talked more than anybody and seemed, in the course of this incident, to have won for himself a position of authority and general confidence when, just as he was opening his mouth to express some new view on the affair, he was, whether as a result of his exertions or of the quantity of beer which he had drunk, suddenly sick. A space was cleared round him, and two people held him by the shoulders. Then he was escorted to one of the benches at the side of the tent, where he sat down next to the retired grocer, holding his head in his hands. Mr Crosby's boy cleared up the mess. I played a couple of games of darts and then, for it was time for me to meet the landlord's daughter, I left the tent and wandered through the increasing crowd towards the horticultural exhibition. I saw Bess when I was still a hundred yards from the big marquee, but did not hurry towards her, or only hurried for a few paces, and then would loiter. Though I knew that what I saw was she5 still I hesitated and looked more closely, for to my eyes she seemed to throw off a kind of radiance, blurring the image; every time I saw her she appeared different, so that I could never convince myself that I was sure of recognizing her. There was something piercing and fragile in any picture that my mind's eye might form of her, for to me she was another world, as remote or more so than the aerodrome itself, though I
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