In response to this shout a rude crowd of nearly a dozen tumbled out of the door to stare, taking no pains to conceal their amusement at the extraordinary sight.
“Say! D’y’ ever see the beat?” roared one.
“Go on, dem’s mugs from de circus!” laughed a second.
“Hey, sonny, does yer mother know yer out?” cried another, at which old and senseless remark the crowd had a fit of laughter.
During this rather unpleasant chaffing the Seven had quietly crossed over to the other side of the street. For obvious reasons they were not seeking a quarrel, least of all would they have sought it here.
This move was promptly noted by the gang. There is nothing a tough likes better than to see some sign of cowardice in an adversary, especially if he be a weak-looking adversary, a “sure thing.” There was a howl from the crowd.
“Hooray! Look at ’em run!”
“What cher ’fraid of, kids? Nobody wants to hurt yer.”
“Come over an’ have a drink.”
“Let’s see yer run!”