But all the same I'm in mourning for Tom an' 'is little Kiddie, an' I don't care who knows it!" He went off, and the group dispersed, partly driven asunder by the increasing fury of the wind, which was now sweeping through the streets in strong, steady gusts, hurling everything before it.

But Helmsley set his face to the storm and toiled on.

He must get out of Minehead.

This he felt to be imperative.

He could not stay in a town which now for many days would talk of nothing else but the tragic death of Tom o' the Gleam.