“Don’t say you were frightened, lad!” cried Andrew.
“I was at first; but when I saw the people being knocked about so, I felt as if I wanted to help.”
“That’s right. You’ve got the right stuff in you. But wasn’t it glorious?”
“Glorious?”
“Yes!” cried Andrew excitedly. “It was brave and gallant to a degree. The cowardly brutes were three times as many as the others.”
“Oh no; the other side was the stronger, and they ought to have whipped.”
“Nonsense! You don’t know what you are talking about,” said Andrew warmly. “The miserable brutes were five or six times as strong, and the brave fellows drove them like a flock of sheep right out of the court, and scattered them in the street like chaff. Oh, it made up for everything!”
Frank put his hand to his head.
“I don’t quite understand it,” he said. “My head feels swimming and queer yet. I thought the people in the house were the weaker—I mean those who dashed out shouting, ‘Down with the Dutchmen!’”
“Of course,” cried Andrew; “that’s what I’m saying. It was very horrible to be situated as we were.”