When they had proceeded thus until Rebecca thought there was nothing left for it but to fall in her tracks and be trampled to death, the whole crowd came suddenly to a halt, and the young men began to erect the May-pole in the midst of a shaded green on one side of the main road.
Rebecca stood, angry and breathless, trying to flick the dust off her bag with her handkerchief, while Phœbe, at her side, her eyes bright and cheeks rosy, showed her pretty teeth in a broad smile of pleasure, the while she tried to restore some order to her hair. As for her hat, that had long ago been lost.
"I declare—I declare to goodness!" panted Rebecca, "ef anybody'd told me ez you, Phœbe Wise, would take on so—so like—like a—a——"
"Like any Zanny's light-o-love," Phœbe broke in, her bosom heaving with the violence of her exercise. "But prithee, sweet, chide me not. From this on shall I be chaste, demure, and sober as an abbess in a play. But oh!—but oh!" she cried, stretching her arms high over her head, "'twas a goodly frolic, sis! I felt a three-centuries' fasting lust for it, in good sooth!"
Rebecca clutched her sister by the arm and shook her.
"Phœbe Wise—Phœbe Wise!" she cried, looking anxiously into her face, "wake up now—wake up! What in the universal airth——"
A loud shout cut her short, and the two sisters turned amazed.
"The bull! The bull!"
There was an opening in the crowd as four men approached leading and driving a huge angry bull, which was secured by a ring in his nose to which ropes were attached. Another man followed, dragged forward by three fierce bull-dogs in a leash.
The bull was quickly tied to a stout post in the street, and the crowd formed a circle closely surrounding the bull-ring. It was the famous bull-ring of Blackman Street in Southwark.