The silence lasted but for a few moments, dining which Richard Trevor caught one frightened glance from the lady in the barouche, and then there was an ugly rush, and he and his friend were borne down the slope of the hill.
The crowd seemed bubbling and seething with excitement for a few minutes, during which the voices of Barney’s friends could be heard loudly exclaiming amongst them; and the gentleman named, in whose eyes the tears had previously been gathering from the excess of his mirth, was borne along with the others, still shaking his head, and feeling as if the drops that collected had suddenly been turned to molten metal.
“Come away, Dick; for goodness’ sake come away.”
“My dear Frank, if you fill a vessel quite full, it begins to run over. This ungodly vessel has been filled full of the gall of bitterness to-day, and now it is running over.”
“But, consider—what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to thrash this fellow within an inch of his life.”
“But, Dick—the disgrace—you can’t fight; you’ve punished him enough. Think of what you’re going to do.”
“I am thinking,” said Trevor, in a quiet, slow way—“thinking that he’s an ugly customer, and that his head looks precious hard.”
“Keep back!”—“Make a ring!”—“Let him have it!”
“Now, Barney!” shouted the bystanders.