An instant of silence, then bedlam broke loose! Oaths, curses, and foul names rained over him. He tried to speak, but the cries grew louder, and those nearest to the steps advanced threateningly. A white-haired little man right in front, who had wept during the speech, made an angry lunge at the preacher with his long, silver-knobbed cane.
“Down with him, down with him!” the cry sounded. “Let him eat his words! Let him tell us what money he got for betraying us! Down with him! Send him to us, we’ll knock the maggots out of him!”
“Put him in the cellar!” cried others. “In the City Hall cellar! Hand him down! hand him down!”
Two powerful fellows seized him. The wretch was clutching the wooden porch railing with all his might, but they kicked both railing and preacher down into the street, where the mob fell upon him with kicks and blows from clenched fists. The women were tearing his hair and clothes, and little boys, clinging to their fathers’ hands, jumped with delight.
“Bring Mette!” cried some one in the back of the crowd. “Make way! Let Mette try him.”
Mette came forward. “Will you eat your devil’s nonsense? Will you, Master Rogue?”
“Never, never! We ought to obey God rather than men, as it is written.”
“Ought we?” said Mette, drawing off her wooden shoe and brandishing it before his eyes. “But men have shoes, and you’re in the pay of Satan and not of God. I’ll give you a knock on the pate! I’ll plaster your brain on the wall!” She struck him with the shoe.
“Commit no sin, Mette,” groaned the scholar.
“Now may the Devil—” she shrieked.