1 66 The Harkaway Hunt Steeplechases. 



door, notwithstanding Wildoats and the stewards were 

 trying with might and main, their shoulders against it, to 

 keep the mob out. Down it went at last, the foremost of 

 the mob tumbling, in his haste, right over the body of old 

 Charlie Dabber, who had been hurled down in the charge. 

 Charlie, whose breath was nearly squeezed out of his 

 body, promptly seized the ear of his enemy in his teeth, 

 much in the same manner a terrier would a rat, and 

 held on like grim death until the ruffian yelled with pain. 

 Meanwhile, there is a free fight going on. Wildoats, who 

 is ready dressed for the next race, is mistaken by the mob 

 for Jack Tomkins, and a rush is made for him. He and 

 Tom Chirpington, shoulder to shoulder, knock the mob 

 down as fast as they come up. Down they go like nine- 

 pins. The Bishop of Soda and B. too, rushes to his friends* 

 assistance, and comes just in time to floor a cowardly 

 fellow who is aiming a blow at Charlie's head with his 

 stick. " Ah ! you would, would you ? " says the parson 

 again, coolly knocking his man down with a straight one 

 from the shoulder as he rose from the ground, and came 

 at him. And now a valuable ally suddenly makes his 

 appearance in the shape of Billy Daw, who elbows his 

 way into the room with more force than politeness. 

 '* Now then, wot's all this here about ? " is his polite 

 inquiry, *' and what the blank do you all want in here, 

 you rumbustical wagabones ? Git hoiit, will yer ? and 

 don't come a treadin' on my patent-leathers. Oh, you'll 

 do it again, will yer ? — take that then. Where do you 

 like it, mister? — in the bread-basket or the tater-trap, 

 which ? Come on, my bloomer, do 'ave some more, please 

 do. Wot ! you won't. Well, I really h'am surprised." 

 And, using suchlike playful badinage the while, the Pro- 



