“Thou art an impudent thing to jest at us,” said Tarleton; “but thy wit has saved thee; rise.”
At this moment two other watchmen came up.
“Gentlemen,” said the tall stranger whom we had rescued, “we had better fly.”
Tarleton cast at him a contemptuous look, and placed himself in a posture of offence.
“Hark ye,” said I, “let us effect an honourable peace. Messieurs the watch, be it lawful for you to carry off the slain, and for us to claim the prisoners.”
But our new foes understood not a jest, and advanced upon us with a ferocity which might really have terminated in a serious engagement, had not the tall stranger thrust his bulky form in front of the approaching battalion, and cried out with a loud voice, “Zounds, my good fellows, what’s all this for? If you take us up you will get broken heads to-night, and a few shillings perhaps to-morrow. If you leave us alone, you will have whole heads, and a guinea between you. Now, what say you?”
Well spoke Phaedra against the dangers of eloquence. The watchmen looked at each other. “Why really, sir,” said one, “what you say alters the case very much; and if Dick here is not much hurt, I don’t know what we may say to the offer.”
So saying, they raised the fallen watchman, who, after three or four grunts, began slowly to recover himself.
“Are you dead, Dick?” said the owl with seven owlets.
“I think I am,” answered the other, groaning.