“Why what’s that?” said Long Hicks on the way to work in the morning.  “Got cuts all over yer hands!”

“Yes,” Johnny answered laconically.  “Fighting.”

“Fightin’!”  Long Hicks looked mighty reproachful.  “Jest you be careful what company you’re gettin’ into,” he said severely.  “You’re neglectin’ yer drawin’ and everything lately, an’ now—fightin’!”

“I ain’t ashamed of it,” Johnny replied gloomily.  “An’ I’ve got other things to think about now, besides drawing.”

Hicks stared, stuttered a little, and rubbed his cap over his head.  He wondered whether or not he ought to ask questions.

They went a little way in silence, and then Johnny said: “It’s him; Butson.”

“No!” exclaimed Hicks, checking in his stride, and staring at Johnny again.  “What!  Bin fightin’ Butson?”

Johnny poured out the whole story; and as he told Hicks’s eyes widened, his face flushed and paled, his hands opened and closed convulsively, and again and again he blew and stuttered incomprehensibly.

“Job is, to drive the brute away,” Johnny concluded wearily.  “He’ll stop as long as he’s fed.  An’ p. 250mother thinks it’s a disgrace to get a separation—goin’ before a magistrate an’ all.  I’m only tellin’ you because I know you won’t jaw about it among the neighbours.”

That day Long Hicks got leave of absence for the rest of the week, mightily astonishing Mr. Cottam by the application, for Hicks had never been known to take a holiday before.

“’Awright,” the gaffer growled, “seein’ as we’re slack.  There’s one or two standin’ auf for a bit a’ready.  But what’s up with you wantin’ time auf?  Gittin’ frisky?  Runnin’ arter the gals?”

And indeed Long Hicks spent his holiday much like a man who is running after someth............