"I haven't hit you yet," said Tom. Phœbe was clinging to his arm. "And now I look at you, I am a little too big for you. But you've got to be hit by some one."
"I'll have the law of you!" gasped Jeremiah, gazing ruefully at his hat. "You shall pay for it, or my name ain't Jeremiah Pamflett."
"Oh! Jeremiah Pamflett, is it?" said Tom, in no wise diverted from his intention by the intelligence.
"Come away, Tom," said Phœbe, imploringly. "Let us go home."
If anything could have contributed to Jeremiah's escape, it was this; but Tom Barley's spirit was roused, also his sense of justice, and under such influences he could be firm.
"In a minute or two," he said to her. "There's nothing to be frightened at. Look here," and he addressed the crowd, "this young London spark has insulted my mistress."
"And he pinched me!" exclaimed a girl, light dawning upon her, and through her upon other of Jeremiah's victims.
"He pinched me!" "He pinched me!" came in a chorus from half a dozen indignant girls.
"That settles it," said Tom. "Is there any one here of his own size, or less, that'll tackle him for twopence and a brandy-ball?"
"Couldn't speak fairer," said one of the show-men.