In spite of his remonstrances the great chancellor was set up on the five-barred gate, and the boys began to pelt him from the heap of stones on the opposite side of the road.
“And who is to pay me for my beautiful images?” asked the Italian, in some trepidation for his money, it being difficult to say which of all these eccentric young savages was the actual purchaser.
“Oh! whoever does not hit it shall owe you for it.”
“But I should like that you pay now, before you throw.”
“Why, you idiot, how can we tell who hits and who misses beforehand. Stand out of the way can’t you!”
“Good shot!” “That was near.” “That has got him!” and down went the bust in fragments. Then a Cupid was exposed to missiles far more substantial than his own, and succumbed. His mama was next sent up by these young Goths; fancy Venus herself being put in the pillory and stoned! What one thing after that could they be expected to respect? Not the infant Samuel, who, in spite of his supplicatory attitude, found no pity. Not Sir Garnet Wolseley, who was exposed to as hot a fire as he had ever been under before, with worse luck; not Mr Gladstone, nor Minerva, nor Tennyson. The spirit of mischief, the thirst for destruction, grew wilder by gratification, and soon the whole stock of models was reduced to a heap of plaster fragments.
“Ah! well, I have sell them all quick to-day,” said the Italian, putting a good face on the business, which yet looked to him rather doubtful, and it is very rare for people to indulge in mischief at their own expense. “It is twenty shilling, one pound you owe me, sare,” he added to Saurin.
“I owe you!” cried Saurin. “I like that! Why, I hit more of them than anyone else, and it was those who missed the lot who were to be responsible. Go to them, man.”
“Oh! gentleman, kind gentleman, you are making fun of me. You speak to me first; you say, ‘Put up the figures for shy.’ I poor man, you gentleman. You laugh! Give me my money, you sare, or you, or you;” and the Italian grasped his long black hair with both hands, and danced about in a manner which amused his tormentors greatly, and their laughter put him a rage.
“You rob me,” he cried, “I will go to the police; I will have you put in prison if you no pay me. Give me my money.”