embroidered vest; a diamond flashed upon his finger. Letting his eyes
range slowly over the flushed faces of the diners, he waited until the
bailiff had waved down the untiring applauders without; then, in a clear
voice, began:

"Bailiff Malkin, my old friends--"

But his speech was broken in upon by a sudden commotion in the street.
Loud cries of a different tenor arose at various points; the boys who had
been hanging upon the window ledge dropped to the ground; the crowd
surged this way and that, and above the mingled clamor sounded a wild and
fearful squeal that drew many of the company to their feet and several in
alarm to the window.

Among these the bailiff, now red with anger, shook his fist at the people
and demanded the meaning of the disturbance. A small boy, his eyes round
with excitement, piped up:

"An't please yer worship, 'tis a wild Injun come from nowheer an' doin'
all manner o' wickedness."

"A wild Injun! Cotch him! Ring the 'larum bell! Put him in the stocks!"

But the bailiff's commands passed unheeded. The people were thronging up
the street, elbowing each other, treading on each other's toes, yelling,
booing, forgetful of all save the strange coincidence that, on this
evening of all others, the banquet in honor of Clive, the Indian hero,
had been interrupted by the sudden appearance of a live Indian in their
very midst.