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That
scoundrel Crosbie got into the same carriage with me at the
Barchester Junction, and sat opposite to me all the way up
to London. I did not speak a word to him, or he to me; but
when he got out at the Paddington Station, I thought I
ought not to let him go away, so I--I can't say that I
thrashed him as I wished to do, but I made an attempt, and
I did give him a black eye. A whole quantity of policemen
got round us, and I hadn't a fair chance. I know you will
think that I was wrong, and perhaps I was; but what could I
do when he sat opposite to me there for two hours, looking
as though he thought himself the finest fellow in all
London?
They've put a horrible paragraph into one of the newspapers
saying that I got so "flogged" that I haven't been able to
stir since. It is an atrocious falsehood, as is all the
rest of the newspaper account. I was not touched. He was
not nearly so bad a customer as the bull, and seemed to
take it all very quietly. I must acknowledge, though, that
he didn't get such a beating as he deserved.


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