Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night.
"No Mohocks! No Scourers!" cried the mob.
"Hear! hear!" vociferated Quilt.
"His lordship desires me to say—ough! ough!"
"Von't you hear me?—ough! ough!" demanded Sharples, after a pause.
"By all means," rejoined Quilt.
"Raise your vice, and lave off coughin'," added Terence.
"The long and the short o' the matter's this then," returned Sharples with dignity, "the Markis begs your acceptance o' ten guineas to drink his health."
The hooting was instantaneously changed to cheers.