“Yes, horrible,” said Frank quietly.
“Not able to so much as draw one’s sword.”
“Too much squeezed together.”
“Yes,” said Andrew, with his face flushed warmly. “I did cry out and shout to them to come on; but one was so helpless and mixed-up-like that people could hardly tell which side they belonged to.”
“No,” said Frank drily; “it was hard.”
He looked meaningly at his companion as he spoke; but Andrew’s eyes were gazing straight before him, and he was seeing right into the future.
“Did you see your friend you wanted to speak to?” said Frank, as they reached the river-side.
“See him? Yes, fighting like a hero; but I couldn’t get near him. Never mind; another time will do. I little thought I should come to the city to-day to see such a victory. It all shows how things are working.”
“Going to ride back by boat?” said Frank, as if to change the conversation.
“Oh yes; we can’t go along Fleet Street and the Strand. The streets will be full of constables, and soldiers out too I dare say. They’re busy making arrests I know; and if we were to go along there, as likely as not there’d be some spy or one of the beaten side ready to point us out as having been in it.”