For it happened that on the other side a tramp was engaged in his legitimate occupation of sleeping under a hedge, and on his extended body our hero rudely descended.
"Hi!" said the tramp, "where be you a-comin' to ?" Mr.Fogo picked himself up and felt for his spectacles; they had tumbled off in his flight, and without them his face presented a curiously naked appearance.

The alarum in his pocket had stopped suddenly with the jerk of his descent.
"I beg your pardon," he mildly apologised, "but a bull in the next field--" "That's no cause for selectin' a gentl'm'n's stomach to tumble 'pon, growled the tramp.
"I beg your pardon, I'm sure," repeated Mr.Fogo; "you may be sure that had time for selection been allowed me--" "Look 'ere," said the tramp with sudden ferocity, "will you fight ?" [Illustration: "Look 'ere," said the tramp.

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"will you fight ?"] Mr.Fogo retreated a step.
"Really--" "Come, look sharp! You won't?
Then I demands 'arf-a-crown." With this the ruffian began to tuck up his ragged cuffs, and was grimly advancing.