"
"Everything's beautiful and quiet," said Mr. Grummit, trembling with
eagerness, "and I wouldn't say a word to a soul. I'll take my solemn
davit I wouldn't."
"When I think o' my garden--" began the constable. With a sudden
movement he knocked off Mr. Grummit's cap, and then, seizing him by the
coat, began to hustle him along the road. In the twinkling of an eye
they had closed.
Tunwich church chimed the half-hour as they finished, and Mr. Grummit,
forgetting his own injuries, stood smiling at the wreck before him. The
constable's helmet had been smashed and trodden on; his uniform was torn
and covered with blood and dirt, and his good looks marred for a
fortnight at least. He stooped with a groan, and, recovering his helmet,
tried mechanically to punch it into shape. He stuck the battered relic
on his head, and Mr. Grummit fell back--awed, despite himself.
"It was a fair fight," he stammered.
The constable waved him away. "Get out o' my sight before I change my
mind," he said, fiercely; "and mind, if you say a word about this it'll
be the worse for you."
"Do you think I've gone mad?" said the other. He took another look at
his victim and, turning away, danced fantastically along the road home.
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