"Hold hard!" said the ostler, who held Hector between his knees. "Hold hard. I have got him, old chap."
"Get out of the way. I'll have his life."
"No you won't."
"Humph!" cried a butcher's boy who was passing. "Why that's the same dog as said the barber had done for his master, and collected never such a lot of halfpence in his hat to pay the expenses of burying of him."
"You villain!" cried Todd.
"Go to blazes!" said the boy. "Who killed the dog's master? Ah, ah! Who did it? Ah, ah!"
The people began to laugh.
"I insist upon killing that dog!" cried Todd.
"Do you?" said the ostler; "now, this here dog is a partickler friend of mine, so you see I can't have it done. What do you say to that now, old stick-in-the-mud? If you walk into him, you must walk through me first. Only just put down that razor, and I'll give you such a wolloping, big as you are, that you'll recollect for some time."
"Down with the razor! Down with the razor!" cried the mob, who was now every moment increasing.