streamed like a snake towards Mistwell. Derek had snatched one of their own sticks, and savagely belaboured the shoulders of the stragglers. Hugh encountered the cockney who stumbled away, sobbing, "Ow, 'es' broke my naose, the brute!"
Derek could distinguish two figures running towards Chard's gate. Hugh was already in pursuit of them. Derek jumped the ditch, and, bounding along beside the palings, captured the hindermost just as he threw one leg over the fence. It was Bob Gunn.
"Well, you miserable little sweep," said Derek grasping him by the collar, "so this is the way you make me sorry I wouldn't take you back."
"I was just lookin' on," muttered Bob.
"You'll find that it's not safe to look on at me," said Derek, and, administering a kick that sent him sprawling, he let him go.
Hugh caught up to him as he reached his gate.
"Did you get your man, Hugh? Who was he?"
"Chard's eldest son, sir."
"What did you do with him?"
"I made him greet."
This summer, as had happened last summer, because of the lack of help, the grass on the south side of the house had grown tall and rank, while the lawn at the front and the tennis court at the north had been rather well cared for. Now the grass was cut, and raked into a great sweet-smelling mound close to the house. On it Derek had thrown himself when Hugh went back to bed, and lay, tingling with the excitement of the sally. He wished the Mistwell ruffians had not been so easily routed. He should have liked to prolong the ecstasy of those barbarous moments. He recalled the feel of his knuckles against someone's jaw in the dark, and the sound of heavy breathing and shuffling
