“Cooper ought not to have taken you,” said Herbert Sims for the fiftieth time.

“He must ha’ seen you like it dozens o’ times before,” said Ted Drill, who, in his determination not to be outdone by Mr. Sims, was not displaying his usual judgment.  “Why didn’t he take you then?  That’s what you ought to have asked the magistrate.”

“I don’t understand you,” said Mr. Gunnill, with an air of cold dignity.

“Why,” said Mr. Drill, “what I mean is—­look at that night, for instance, when——­”

He broke off suddenly, even his enthusiasm not being proof against the extraordinary contortions of visage in which Mr. Gunnill was indulging.

“When?” prompted Selina and Mr. Sims together.  Mr. Gunnill, after first daring him with his eye, followed suit.

“That night at the Crown,” said Mr. Drill, awkwardly.  “You know; when you thought that Joe Baggs was the landlord.  You tell ’em; you tell it best.  I’ve roared over it.”

“I don’t know what you’re driving at,” said the harassed Mr. Gunnill, bitterly.

“H’m!” said Mr. Drill, with a weak laugh.  “I’ve been mixing you up with somebody else.”

Mr. Gunnill, obviously relieved, said that he ought to be more careful, and pointed out, with some feeling, that a lot of mischief was caused that way.

“Cooper wants a lesson, that’s what he wants,” said Mr. Sims, valiantly.  “He’ll get his head broke one of these days.”

Mr. Gunnill acquiesced.  “I remember when I was on the Peewit,” he said, musingly, “one time when we were lying at Cardiff, there was a policeman there run one of our chaps in, and two nights afterward another of our chaps pushed the policeman down in the mud and ran off with his staff and his helmet.”

Miss Gunnill’s eyes glistened.  “What happened?” she inquired.

“He had to leave the force,” replied her father; “he couldn’t stand the disgrace of it.  The chap that pushed him over was quite a little chap, too.  About the size of Herbert here.”

Mr. Sims started.

“Very much like him in face, too,” pursued Mr. Gunnill; “daring chap he was.”

Miss Gunnill sighed.  “I wish he lived in Little-stow,” she said, slowly.  “I’d give anything to take that horrid Mrs. Cooper down a bit.  Cooper would be the laughing-stock of the town.”

Messrs. Sims and Drill looked unhappy.  It was hard to have to affect an attitude of indifference in the face of Miss Gunnill’s lawless yearnings; to stand before her as respectable and law-abiding cravens.  Her eyes, large and sorrowful; dwelt on them both.

“If I—­I only get a chance at Cooper!” murmured Mr. Sims, vaguely.

To his surprise, Mr. Gunnill started up from his chair and, gripping his hand, shook it fervently.  He looked round, and Selina was regarding him with a glance so tender that he lost his head completely.  Before he had recovered he had pledged himself to lay the helmet and truncheon of the redoubtable Mr. Cooper at the feet of Miss Gunnill; exact date not specified.