'And your humble servant,' said Mr. Dunborough. 'I tell you, Tommy, we
had a near run for it. Curse their impudence, they made us sweat. For a
very little I would give the rascals something to howl for.'

Perhaps he meant no more than to put a bold face on it before his
creatures. But unluckily the rabble, which had come provided with a cart
and gallows, a hangman, and a paunchy, red-faced fellow in canonicals,
and which hitherto had busied itself with the mock execution, found
leisure at this moment to look up at the window. Catching sight of the
object of their anger, they vented their rage in a roar of execration,
so much louder than all that had gone before that it brought the
sentence which Mr. Thomasson was uttering to a quavering end. But the
demonstration, far from intimidating Mr. Dunborough, provoked him to
fury. Turning from the sea of brandished hands and upturned faces, he
strode to a table, and in a moment returned. The window was open, he
flung it wider, and stood erect, in full view of the mob.

The sight produced a momentary silence, of which he took advantage.
'Now, you tailors, begone!' he cried harshly. 'To your hovels, and leave
gentlemen to their wine, or it will be the worse for you. Come, march!
We have had enough of your fooling, and are tired of it.'

The answer was a shout of 'Cain!' and 'Murderer!' One voice cried
'Ferrers!' and this caught the fancy of the crowd. In a moment a hundred
were crying, 'Ay, Ferrers! Come down, and we'll Ferrers you!'

He stood a moment irresolute, glaring at them; then something struck and
shattered a pane of the window beside him, and the fetid smell of a bad
egg filled the room. At the sound Mr. Thomasson uttered a cry and shrank