“You needn’t have made remarks about him,” whispered Frank. “I’m afraid he heard what you said.”
“I meant him to hear,” said Andrew loudly; and he stopped and looked back directly. “A miserable, contemptible impostor. I could cure his wretched cough in two minutes with that stick he leans on.”
The man started as if he had received a blow, and raised his head to glare fiercely at the youth, who was looking him superciliously up and down.
“Look at him, Frank,” continued Andrew; “did you ever see such a miserable, hangdog-looking cur?”
Frank felt in agony, and gripped his companion by the arm.
“Did you mean that to insult me, boy?” said the man angrily.
“Done it without the stick,” said Andrew, not appearing to notice the man’s words. “You see a good lash from the tongue was enough. Now, can you imagine it possible that any one could sink so low as to earn his living by watching his fellow-creatures, spying their every act, and then betraying them for the sake of a few dirty shillings, to send them to prison or to the gibbet? There can be nothing on earth so base as a thing like this. Why, a footpad is a nobleman compared to him.”
“You insolent young puppy!” cried the man; and entirely forgetful of his infirmity, he took three or four paces toward them, with his stick raised to strike.
Frank’s hand darted to his sword, but Andrew did not stir. He stood with his lids half closed and his lips compressed, staring firmly at his would-be assailant, never flinching for a moment, nor removing his eyes from those which literally glowed with anger.
“The cough’s gone, Frank, and the disguise might as well go with it. He is not an invalid, but one of the vile, treacherous ruffians in the pay of the Government. Let your blade alone; he daren’t strike, for fear of having a sword through his miserable carcass. He was dressed as a sailor the other day, and he looked as if he had never had a foot at sea. He has been hanging about the Park for the past month. Pah! look at the contemptible worm.”