"You go along the road an' wait for me," he said with a sudden ferocity which made the woman start. "Off with ye now. I'll come up with ye: unless this gentleman 'ud make it a matter of a five-pun' note."
"Hold your dirty tongue," said Patsy, and landed Mr. Baker one in the chest.
The man rushed at him with his head down, a shower of foul words coming from his lips. Before anything could happen some one intervened,—Terry O'Gara, dazzlingly clean as he always looked.
"Here, you keep quiet, you ruffian!" he said, delivering a very neat blow just under the man's chin. "What is it all about, Patsy? Hadn't I better send for the police?"
Mr. Baker had fallen back against the stone bench and subsided on to it, feeling his jaw bone.
"I'll make you pay for this yere conduck to an 'armless man wot was doin' nothink," he growled.
Something floated into Patsy's mind, vague, terrible. Before he could grasp it another person joined the group,—Sir Shawn O'Gara.
"What's the matter?" he asked. "Who is this person?"
His face changed. Patsy Kenny, who was watching him, saw the change.
He had grown livid, his lips blue. Was he ill? Was he going to fall?
Before Patsy could do anything he recovered himself and spoke.