His blood was up at last.
He was shouting he knew not what, he was hitting out with his fists.
Men's voices about him--"Let go, you beast." "My God, I'll finish you." "There goes a bobby." "Stamp on him!" A disgraceful scene.

The policemen were hopelessly outnumbered.

The crowd broke on to the line of orderly little gardens, water was poured from windows, the palings were flung to the ground--glass broken--screams of women somewhere in the distance.
But even now Olva knew that his moment had not come.

Then some one shouted in his ear--"Town cads! They're murdering a bobby!" He was caught with several other men (of their number was Bunning) off the Common up a side street.
A blazing lamp showed him an angry, shouting, jeering crowd; figures closed round something on the ground.

Four men had joined arms with him, and now the five of them, shouting "'Varsity!" hitting right and left, rushed into the circle.