Looking round quickly, Tom saw Master Cale, with his daughter clinging to his arm, standing in the doorway of the house, and sternly regarding the scene.
"Watchmen," he said, "if you make any prisoners today, take you those four bullies, who are but too well known in these streets already. It is they who delight to set upon strangers, and insult and frighten innocent maidens. Take you them, and I will bear witness against them; for I saw the scene with my own eyes. Would to heaven that honest citizens could rid their streets of such spawn!
"But I tell you, you mischievous scum, the day will come when we will no longer stand this swaggering and bullying. We are a patient people; but you can provoke us too far. I know you four right well. I would sit you in the stocks in a row, or have you whipped at the cart's tail from Newgate to Tyburn; and perchance the day may come when--"
But the miscreants did not wait to hear the end of this harangue. They well knew that no tale of theirs could stand for a moment before the witness of a man respected as Master Cale the perruquier. Fearful lest the watch, who had let go their hold of Tom, should in turn lay hands on them, they fled helter-skelter, but as they went they breathed out threats of being even with Tom another time, and he knew well that this encounter had changed them from the merely jeering enemies they had shown themselves at first into real antagonists full of bitter animosity and hatred.
The watch were never too eager to take up evildoers who were possessed of swords and were strong of body. They were glad enough that Master Cale had vouched for Tom's honesty, and that the other four had betaken themselves away. Hard knocks and sometimes fatal injury were often the portion of these old men, so incapable of keeping order in the streets; and thankful were they when any fray ended in the manner of this one.
But Cale's face was rather grave as he turned homewards, his daughter clinging to his arm, and Tom marching upon her other side with his head high in the air.
"I thank you, my good lad, for being so stout a champion to my little girl," he said; "and yet I would it had not happened; for it is ill work making enemies in these days of lawlessness and duelling."
But Tom gave a little laugh. He had no desire to make boast of his prowess; yet he felt that he could settle a score of quarrels with such besotted creatures as the four he had put to rout so lately, and be no manner the worse for it himself. He was not at all sorry for the adventure. He felt a flutter of pride and pleasure in the shy glances shot at him from the dark eyes beneath the crimson hood. He had made of himself a hero in the eyes of pretty Rosamund, and he liked that experience well enough.
"Fear not for me, my good friend," he answered, in a tone that had caught a little of the lofty ring of Lord Claud's.
"A man cannot go through life without making enemies as well as friends. But as for such creatures as we have just quitted, why, they are not worth a thought! I heed them no more than the wasp that buzzes round my head. They are the scum and off scouring of the earth--all brag and boast, but ready to run at the first hint of danger!"