He served her in haste, terrified by the boisterous noise of her escort.
Then they walked up the Road, shrieking with laughter, bumping against the passengers, who hurried past with scared looks.

It was a triumphal procession to the butcher's and the greengrocer's Mrs Yabsley, radiant with beer, gave her orders royally, her bodyguard, seizing on every purchase, fighting for the privilege of carrying it.

The procession turned into Cardigan Street again, laden with provisions, yelling scraps of song, rousing the street with ungodly clamour.
Old Dad met them at the corner of Cooper Street.

He stood for a moment, lurching with unpremeditated steps to the front and rear, astonished by the noise and the crowd.

Then he recognized Mrs Yabsley, and became suddenly excited, under the impression that she was being taken to the lock-up by the police.