By reason of the little man's excited antics and high-pitched threats
and wailings, we were very soon the centre of a pushing, inquisitive
throng; faces peered at me, fists were shaken and voices reviled me,
in especial one, that of an evil-faced man whose narrow eyes seemed
vaguely familiar. Every moment the hostile demonstrations of the crowd
grew more threatening until suddenly, and to my inexpressible comfort,
above the angry clamour arose a voice peculiarly rich and musical.
"Give way, friends, give way--yon lad's a friend o' mine--give way!"
The ring about me was split apart by the forward thrust of a sinewy
shoulder, and Jessamy appeared with Diana close beside him. "Why,
what's the trouble, brother?" he enquired.
"Thievin'--robbery, that's what!" cried the little man, capering
higher than ever. "Stole me silver-framed mirror, 'e 'as, the young
wagabone--a genuine hantique worth its weight in hemeralds--stole me
mirror and don't deny it, neither--!"
"Who says he stole it?" demanded Jessamy. "Did any o' ye see him
commit the fact?" At this the small man blinked, and the two that held
me stared upon each other a little at a loss.
"Who says my friend stole your vallybles--come!" demanded Jessamy.
"Why, we all says so!" cried the little man. "An' he can't deny
it--and no more 'e don't, neither!"
"However," said Jessamy, "my friend ain't stole your mirror, friend."
"Then 'oo 'as?" demanded the little man, capering again.
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