"Here's that conceited youngster," muttered one of the men. "Hang it! He has Ellary with him, or we'd give him a jacketing."
"He shall have it yet," said another; "we'll flog the impudence out of the young sneak. He shall learn not to set himself against those older and wiser than himself."
"You had better leave the boy alone, I can tell you; it'll be the worse for any man who lays a finger upon him," said a tall, stalwart young fellow who stood near. The appearance of Gus' champion was so formidable that the men turned away, and uttered no more threats.
As Gus passed through the crowd, unconscious of the ill-will he had excited, an old man caught him by the hand, and said kindly, with lowered voice, "Gus, lad, you must join us. There are men ready to do you a mischief if you hold out. Their blood's up, and they don't care what they do. Come, lad, why should you turn against your old friends? Why risk your life for the sake of that scoundrel?"
"I will never turn against old friends; Mike, and as to risking my life, I cannot believe that any of the men would really do me harm. Why should they? They know I am their friend. But I cannot see that it would be right of me to throw up my work. I have no grievance."
"You might take up their grievances. It looks as if you had no feeling, to hold yourself aloof."
"Indeed I do feel for them," said Gus, looking troubled, "and so does Mr. Mouncey; but—"
"Oh, parson's agin us too. Parsons always take the side of the rich against the poor."
"That's not true," said Gus, with a touch of indignation in his tone. "No one feels for the poor more than Mr. Mouncey. But he thinks the men have been too hasty."
"Oh yes; of course we're in the wrong," said Mike. "But, Gus, these men have been drinking; you had better take yourself out of their way."