Suddenly he remembered the night when one of the music-hall _artistes_, a little blond Londoner, had made a rather free allusion to Polly. The reunion had been almost broken up on account of Jack’s violence. Everyone tried to quiet him. The music-hall _artiste_, a little paler than usual, kept smiling and saying that there was no harm meant: but Jack kept shouting at him that if any fellow tried that sort of a game on with _his_ sister he’d bloody well put his teeth down his throat, so he would.