“Not so heavy, Sam. You’re like a little Jumbo. When she went to school she used to post mice in the pillarbox and they ate up all the letters. And she used to do things to boys in the scullery. I can’t tell you. You could hear them screaming all over the house.”

But Samuel was not listening any more. He circled and stumbled to a rhythm of his own among the flying legs, dipped and retreated, hopped on one leg and spun, his hair falling over his eyes and his bottle swinging. He clung to George Ring’s shoulder and zig-zagged away from him, then bounced up close again.

“Don’t swing the bottle. Don’t swing it. Look out. Sam. Sam.”

Samuel’s arm flew back and a small woman went down. She grabbed at his legs and he brought George Ring with him. Another man fell, catching fast to his partner’s skirt. A long rip and she tumbled among them, her legs in the air, her head in a heave of bellies and arms.

Samuel lay still. His mouth pressed on the curls at the nape of the neck of the woman who had fallen first. He put out his tongue.

“Get off my head, you’ve got keys in your pocket.”

“Oh, my leg!”

“That’s right. Easy does it. Upsadaisy.”

“Someone’s licking me,” cried the woman at the bottom.

Then the two girls from behind the bar were standing over them, slapping and kicking, pulling them up by the hair.

“It was that one’s fault. He crowned her with a bottle. I saw him,” said the bank manager’s niece.

“Where’d he get the bottle from, Lola?”

The girl with the bow tie dragged Samuel up by the collar and pointed to his left hand. He tried to slip it in his pocket but a hand like a black boxing glove closed over the bottle. A large black face bent down and stared into his. He saw only the whites of the eyes and the teeth.

I don’t want a cut on my face. Don’t cut my lips open. They only use razors in stories. Don’t let him have read any stories.

“Now, now,” said Mrs. Dacey’s voice. The black face jerked back as she thrust out her opened umbrella, and Samuel’s hand was free.

“Throw him out, Monica.”

“He was dancing like a monkey, throw him out.”

“If you throw him out you can throw me out too,” Mr. Allingham said from the bar. He raised his fists.

Two men walked over to him.

“Mind my glasses.” He did not wear any.

They opened the door and threw him up the steps.

“Bloody nun,” a voice shouted.

“Now you.”

“And the old girl. Look out for her brolly, Dodie.”

Samuel fell on the area below Mr. Allingham, and Mrs. Dacey came flying after with her umbrella held high.

It was still raining heavily.