A crowd collected in the street.

Cad Prog roared as loud as he could, so did his little sister, so did the baby, so did Jimmy Bates, so did Joe Bobbins, so did Harry Rasper, so did I.

_I_ did not care what happened; I went for Cad Prog, and have a vague idea of my hand and his nose being near together, and louder yells still.
Then all of a sudden there was a tramp of heavy footsteps on the stairs, and all I can remember after that was receiving a heavy cuff on my head, being dragged down into the street, where--so it seemed to me for the moment--at least a million people must have been congregated; and, finally, I know not how, I was standing in the middle of my uncle's study floor, with my coat gone, my mouth bleeding, and my cap, after all, clean vanished! It was a queer plight to be in.

I heard a dinning in my ears of loud voices, and when I looked at the bust on the top of the bookcase it seemed to be toppling about anyhow.

Some people were talking in the room, but the only voice I could recognise was my uncle's.