At this the officer began to tug at the coat-collar of his prisoner.
‘Now, Oates, ain’t you ashamed of yourself?’ asked Blodget, loosening the hand of the other from his collar.
‘Why should I be ashamed?’ asked Oates, looking about him, as if to summon aid.
‘Simply, to impose upon my good nature in this way. Don’t you know that with one blow of my fist I could send you reeling, to say nothing of my friend here.’
‘Your friend. What? You threaten me with a rescue, young man?’ to Monteagle.
‘I have said nothing,’ replied the youth.
‘But I don’t like your looks, sir,’ said the officer, trying to put himself in a towering passion.
‘Bah!’ cried Monteagle, ‘Come along, Blodget, before you frighten this poor gentleman to death. You see that he is ready to drop with fear now.’
‘Very well. This is pretty conduct—pretty talk to a police officer,’ was the reply of Oates, ‘but I’ll report you to your betters. I know you both and I’ll report you.’
‘Take something along with you first, or you’ll have nothing to tell,’ cried Blodget, seizing the official by the back of the neck, as he was about to make a hasty retreat, and giving him three or four vigorous kicks.