began to be more personal.

"You in the second-hand lobster-tin," shouted one--he meant
Friesshardt, whose suit of armour, though no longer new, hardly
deserved this description--"who's your hatter?"

"Can't yer see," shouted a friend, when Friesshardt made no reply, "the
pore thing ain't alive? 'E's stuffed!"

Roars of laughter greeted this sally. Friesshardt, in spite of the fact
that he enjoyed a joke, turned pink.

"'E's blushing!" shrieked a voice.

Friesshardt turned purple.

Then things got still more exciting.

"'Ere," said a rough voice in the crowd impatiently, "wot's the good of
_torkin'_ to 'em? Gimme that 'ere egg, missus!"

And in another instant an egg flew across the meadow, and burst over
Leuthold's shoulder. The crowd howled with delight. This was something
_like_ fun, thought they, and the next moment eggs, cabbages,
cats, and missiles of every sort darkened the air. The two soldiers
raved and shouted, but did not dare to leave their post. At last, just
as the storm was at its height, it ceased, as if by magic. Everyone in
the crowd turned round, and, as he turned, jumped into the air and
waved his hat.