It had been bound to come sooner or later, and Reginald, as he drew the boy's arm once more under his own, felt almost a sense of relief as he stood and watched Mr Durfy slowly pick himself up and collect his scattered wardrobe.
It was some time before the operation was complete, and even then Mr Durfy's powers of speech had not returned.

With a malignant scowl he stepped up to his enemy and hissed the one menace,-- "All right!" and then walked away.
Reginald waited till he had disappeared round the corner, and then, turning to his companion, took a long breath and said,-- "Come along, young 'un; it can't be helped." The reader must forgive me if I ask him to leave the two lads to walk to Dull Street by themselves, while he accompanies me in the wake of the outraged and mud-stained Mr Durfy.
That gentleman was far more wounded in his mind than in his person.

He may have been knocked down before in his life, but he had never, as far as he could recollect, been quite so summarily routed by a boy half his age earning only eighteen shillings a week! And the conviction that some people would think he had only got his deserts in what he had suffered, pained him very much indeed.
He did not go to the Alhambra.

His clothes were too dirty, and his spirits were far too low.

He did, in the thriftiness of his soul, attempt to sell his orders in the crowd at the theatre door.