“Mock! mock! mock!” he cried. “Some of you thoughtless brats may fall even lower than I have fallen!”
“Well, I like that—I don’t think!” exclaimed one of the boys. “I don’t ’low no jagged stiff to call me a brat!”
Then he threw a stone at the old actor, striking the man on the cheek and cutting him slightly.
The unfortunate placed his crushed and soiled hat on his head, took out a handkerchief, and slowly wiped a little blood from his cheek, all the while swaying a bit, as if the ground beneath his feet were tossing like a ship.
“‘Now let it work,’” he quoted. “‘Mischief, thou art afoot; take thou what course thou wilt. How now, fellow?’”
The thoughtless young ruffians shouted with laughter.
“Looker the old duffer!” cried one. “Ain’t that a picture fer yer!”
“Look!” exclaimed the actor. “Behold me with thy eyes! Even lower than I have fallen may thou descend; but I have aspired to heights of which thy sordid soul may never dream. Out upon you, dog!”
With these words he reached the walk and turned down the street.
“Let’s foller him!” cried one of the gang. “We can have heaps of fun with him.”