“I’m not a coward, and I’ve not behaved as one,” said Andrew.
“O-oh!” came in a prolonged whoop from the assembled audience, “don’t you call it cowardly to knock down a wretched cripple, and then kick at him when he’s down? Don’t you call it cowardly to spring out on a chap in the dark, and hit him in the back, eh?”
“It was all done by mistake, I didn’t mean to do it,” said Andrew.
“Oh! all right then, you’re prepared to come along with us now, are you, this very moment, to Playden, and apologise like a man and a gentleman to the miserable Aaron? Look here, we’ll come with you, so that you shan’t run a chance of being paid out by them.”
“But with people of that sort,” said Phil, “an apology is only half the battle; you’ll have to stump up that half-crown you’ve got stowed away somewhere.”
“A likely story,” cried Andrew; “I’m not going near that cobbler’s den again, I can tell you.”
“If you’re not the very biggest cad that ever breathed, you will,” said Phil; “why, when we had a row with some street cads at school, and one poor chap got his tooth knocked out, we all clubbed and gave him five shillings, just because we were gentlemen and he was a cad.”
“I don’t care a mouldy rat,” replied Andrew, “whether you knock out a gutter-scraper’s teeth or your own, but you won’t find me fagging over to Playden, it’s not good enough.”
“He’s werry cheeky,” exclaimed Hubert, who was genuinely amazed at such open defiance on Andrew’s part.
A sudden blow from Andrew sent him sprawling his full length on the ground, and thus the formal character of the proceedings was entirely dissipated. Before Hubert could find his feet again, Phil and Jack had fallen upon Andrew, and a tremendous struggle ensued.