Uncle Isaac looked desperately about him, but he saw no sympathy. Dockmen, workmen, boys—all were agog to see as much fun as possible in the time at disposal. The pursuing harpy came a step nearer, and bawled again, “Will you lend me twopence?”
“No!” cried Uncle Isaac, driven to bay at last. “No, I won’t! Go away! Go away, you—you infamious creacher!”
“You won’t?”
“No, not by no means. Go away. Y’ought to be ashamed of yerself, you—you—you opstroperous faggit!”
“Calls ’isself a gen’leman,” she said, lifting her gaze to the clouds. “Calls ’isself a gen’leman, an’ uses such language to a lady!”
“Shockin’,” said one in the hilarious crowd. “What a wicked ole bloke!”
Uncle Isaac gave another unquiet glance about him, and moved another yard. The woman brought her eyes to earth again, and: “Won’t gimme twopence,” she proclaimed, “an’ I’m a orficer’s widow! Never mind, len’ me a penny; on’y a penny, Mr. Mundy. Do, there’sh a dear! O you are a ole duck!” And Mother Born-drunk stumbled toward Uncle Isaac with affectionately extended arms.
The crowd shrieked with joy, but Uncle Isaac turned and ran, one hand clapped to the crown of his very tall hat. He would wait for no bridge now, but get away as best he could. The boys yelled and whistled, and kept up at an easy trot with the quick scuttle of his short legs; behind them came Mother Born-drunk, tripping and floundering, spurred to infuriate chase by sight and sound of her unchanging enemies, the boys, and growing at every step more desirous of clawing at one of them than of catching Uncle Isaac.
As for him, he dropped his hat once, and nearly fell on it, in looking behind. So he thrust it under his arm as he scurried past the bend in the road; and there despair seized him, for now the other bridge was open too. Which escape might he make first? At the end from which he had turned back, a great liner was being towed through at a snail’s pace, funnels and masts scarce seeming to move across the street. But at this end a small coaster went out briskly, and her mizzen was more than half over now. The woman was less than twenty yards off, but though she still staggered nearer, she was engaged with boys. Uncle Isaac put panic aside, and resolved on dignity. He took his hat from under his arm, and began to brush it on his sleeve.
Mother Born-drunk was in the hands of her enemies, though there were fewer than usual. She swore and swiped at them, and they flung and yelled and danced. But they drew nearer Uncle Isaac, for it was a new variation in the sport to involve an old gentleman with his Sunday clothes on. Then shouted the woman breathlessly: “P’lice! p’lice! Mish’ Mundy, I’ll give y’ in charge for annoyin’ me. ’J’ear!” She came very near and made a catch at him, which he dodged without regard to dignity. “Mish’ Mundy! Stand a drop—just a little drop for ole times! If ye don’t stand a drop I’ll give y’ in charge!”