And they all glared at Frank—at least all of them but the one with the crooked eye. It is possible that he, also, glared at the supposed offender, but he seemed to be glaring at a white horse on the opposite side of the street.
Repressing his laughter with difficulty, Merry said:
“I assure you, gentlemen, I never saw this lady, to my knowledge, before a few minutes ago, when she stopped me on the street, and——”
Again the woman screamed.
“Will you listen to his base falsehoods?” she cried, with a show of the greatest indignation and distress. “He is trying to disgrace me still further by asserting that I stopped him on the street—stopped him! As if a lady would do such a thing!”
“The idea!” squawked the man with the long neck, his head seeming to bob faster than ever, as if it sought to express by its excited movements the indignant emotions his tongue could not utter.
“My dear lady, I would not remain here to be thus insulted,” declared the gallant man, bending toward her, and endeavoring to summon a look of concern to his treacherous countenance.
“He should be placed in irons!” blurted the fierce-appearing little man, his red whiskers seeming to work and squirm with intense excitement and anger.
“He ought to have his head broken!” roared the big man, his crooked eye still seeming to glare at the white horse in a most terrible and awesome manner.
Others of the assembled crowd murmured to themselves in a most indignant manner, all seeming to regard Frank as the offender.