horse, held also a pistol at the coachman's head, muttering lurid threats
of what he would do if the coachman drove on. The dismounted man was half
inside the coach where two women shrank from him, and thence his
blusterous voice proceeded, "Now, my blowens, hand over, or I'll rummage
you. A skinny purse? Come, now, you've more than that. What's under your
legs, fatty? Stand up, I say. Ay, hand out the jewel-box. Now, my tackle,
what ha' you got aboard? What's under that pretty tucker?" He threw the
jewel-case out into the mud and, leaning across one woman, reached with a
fat, foul hand to the younger bosom beyond.

He was prevented by a whistle and a cry, "Behind you, Ben." His companion
announced the arrival of Harry.

Ben came out of the coach with an oath and thrust his pistol into Harry's
face. "Good e'en to you, bully. Now cut and run or I'll drill you. Via,
my poppet."

Harry looked along the pistol and stood fast. The highwayman was no
bigger than he, and bloated. "I am studying arithmetic, Benjamin," said
he.

"Burn your eyes, be off with you; run while you may."

Harry laughed and swung his stick at the mud. "But, I wonder, is it
addition or subtraction? Is it two and one makes three, or--"

"Kick the bumpkin into the ditch, Ben," the man on horseback advised.

"Off with you," Benjamin thrust him back, and in the act the pistol
wavered. Harry slashed with his stick at the pistol hand. A yell, an