'You'll 'ave to pay for my trousers, any'ow!' Wilfrid blustered, looking down at his torn garments.
The onlookers tittered. 'That's it,' some one said jocularly; 'you 'ave the law on 'im, my son.'
'Sha'n't pay a penny!' Pincher said.
'That's right, little un!' came a voice from the crowd; 'don't you be put upon!'
'I'll bloomin' well make you!' shouted Parkin, squaring up. 'I'll give you a thick ear if you don't!'
'I ain't afraid o' you!' Pincher retorted, glaring at him. 'You 'it me an' see wot you gits!'
'Go on, Will. Give 'im one,' advised the pugnacious Jane.
'You'll do nothing of the sort,' said Emmeline quietly, stepping between the two men. 'If you want to kick up a shindy, Mister Parkin, you'd best do it outside.'
'I say it was the sailor's fault!' reiterated the other lady shrilly. 'I saw 'im'——
'Now then, what's all the fuss about?' asked the rink manager severely, pushing his way through the throng. 'We can't 'ave these sort of goings-on 'ere. You've 'eld up the 'ole proceedings. Somebody fallen down—what?'