"Did you attack him?" asked the policeman.

The Professor breathed hard and said nothing.

"It's not the first time, either," said the policeman, severely,
shaking his head.  "You were in trouble last month for the same thing. 
You've blackened this young man's eye.  Do you give him in charge, sir?"

I relented.

"No," said I, "I do not."

"What's that?" said the policeman.

"I was to blame myself.  I intruded upon him.  He gave me fair warning."

The policeman snapped up his notebook.

"Don't let us have any more such goings-on," said he.  "Now, then! 
Move on, there, move on!"  This to a butcher's boy, a maid, and
one or two loafers who had collected.  He clumped heavily down
the street, driving this little flock before him.  The Professor
looked at me, and there was something humorous at the back of his eyes.

"Come in!" said he.  "I've not done with you yet."

The speech had a sinister sound, but I followed him none the less
into the house.  The man-servant, Austin, like a wooden image,
closed the door behind us.

                            CHAPTER IV

         "It's Just the very Biggest Thing in the World"

Hardly was it shut when Mrs. Challenger darted out from
the dining-room.  The small woman was in a furious temper. 
She barred her husband's way like an enraged chicken in front of
a bulldog.  It was evident that she had seen my exit, but had not
observed my return.

"You brute, George!" she screamed.  "You've hurt that nice young man."

He jerked backwards with his thumb.

"Here he is, safe and sound behind me."

She was confused, but not unduly so.

"I am so sorry, I didn't see you."

"I assure you, madam, that it is all right."

"He has marked your poor face!  Oh, George, what a brute you are! 
Nothing but scandals from one end of the week to the other. 
Everyone hating and making fun of you.  You've finished my patience. 
This ends it."

"Dirty linen," he rumbled.

"It's not a secret," she cried.  "Do you suppose that the whole
street--the whole of London, for that matter----  Get away, Austin,
we don't want you here.  Do you suppose they don't all talk about you?
Where is your dignity?  You, a man who should have been Regius
Professor at a great University with a thousand students all
revering you.  Where is your dignity, George?"

"How about yours, my dear?"

"You try me too much.  A ruffian--a common brawling ruffian--
that's what you have become."

"Be good, Jessie."

"A roaring, raging bully!"

"That's done it!  Stool of penance!" said he.

To my amazement he stooped, picked her up, and placed her sitting
upon a high pedestal of black marble in the angle of the hall. 
It was at least seven feet high, and so thin that she could hardly
balance upon it.  A more absurd object than she presented cocked
up there with her face convulsed with anger, her feet dangling,
and her body rigid for fear of an upset, I could not imagine.

"Let me down!" she wailed. 

"Say `please.'"

"You brute, George!  Let me down this instant!"

"Come into the study, Mr. Malone."

"Really, sir----!" said I, looking at the lady.

"Here's Mr. Malone pleading for you, Jessie.

Say `please,' and down you come."

"Oh, you brute!  Please! please!"