"Stick on to me and get out of this." "I'm all right! Leave me alone, can't you! How often have I a damned chance of enjoying myself ?" It was the first syllable of bad language that Gammon had heard from Polperro's lips.

Struck with the fact, and all the more conscious of his duty to this high-born madman, he hit on a device for rescuing him from the crowd.
"Look!" he cried suddenly, "there's Greenacre!" "Where ?" replied the other, all eagerness.
"Just in front; don't you see him?
This way; come along, or we shall lose him." Flecks of dim white had for some minutes been visible above their heads; it was beginning to snow.

Gammon shouldered his way steadily, careful not to come into quarrelsome conflict.

Polperro hung on behind, shouting Greenacre's name.

This clamour and the loss of his hat drew attention upon him; he was a mark for squirts and missiles, to say nothing of verbal insult.