"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!"
The gaffers were putting their heads together, whilst the young ones whispered eagerly,—
"Brown coat! ... embroidered waistcoat! ... a gold-headed whip!..."
Nay, 'twas often enough that Master Inch had to cry out the description of some wretched vagabond in hiding in the village, but it was not usual that such an one was attired in the clothes of a gentleman.
It even struck Sir Humphrey as very strange, and he pushed through the group of yokels to hear more clearly Master Inch's renewed description of the rogue.
"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!"
At first the interest in Master Inch's pompous words was so keen that Sir Humphrey remained practically unnoticed. One or two villagers, noting that a gentleman was amongst them, respectfully made way for him, then one youngster, struck by a sudden idea, stared at him and whispered to his neighbour,—
"He's got a brown coat on..."
"Aye!" whispered the other in reply, "and an embroiderated waistcoat too."
Some of them began crowding around Sir Humphrey, so that he raised his whip and muttered angrily,—