There was a menacing air in his eye as he glanced at Abel, who felt himself quiver with impotent, blind rage.
“I dun—dun—no ye!” he said, with maudlin dignity.
The men pressed nearer.
“Time to go home! Time to go home!” quavered the liquor-seller; and Ned opened his eyes, and slowly raised his huge frame from the bench.
“What’s the row?” asked he of his comrades.
“The Honorable Abel Newt’s the row,” said Jim, pointing at him.
There was something peculiarly irritating to Abel in the pointing finger. Holding by the counter, he raised his hand and struck at it.
Ned rolled his body off the bench in a moment.
“For God’s sake!” gasped the little liquor-seller.
Jim and Dick stood hesitatingly, glaring at Abel. Jim struck his teeth together. Ned joined them, and they surrounded Abel.