"What's your fare, my lad?" says I.
"Why, let's see—yes—ho!—my fare's seven-and-thirty and eightpence eggs—ackly."
The fourteen gentlemen, holding the luggage, here burst out and laughed very rudely indeed; and the only person who seemed disappointed was, I thought, the hackney-coachman. "Why, you rascal!" says Jemmy, laying hold of the boy, "do you want more than the coachman?"
"Don't rascal me, marm!" shrieks the little chap in return. "What's the coach to me? Vy, you may go in an omlibus for sixpence if you like; vy don't you go and buss it, marm? Vy did you call my cab, marm? Vy am I to come forty mile, from Scarlot Street, Po'tl'nd Place, and not git my fare, marm?"
This speech, which takes some time to write down, was made in about the fifth part of a second; and, at the end of it, the young gentleman hurled down his pipe, and, advancing towards Jemmy, doubled his fist, and seemed to challenge her to fight. My dearest girl now turned from red to be as pale as white Windsor, and fell into my arms; what was I to do? I called, "Policeman!" but a policeman wont interfere in Thames Street; robbery is licensed there: what was I to do? Oh! my heart beats when I think of what my Tug did!
As soon as this young cab chap put himself into a fighting attitude, Master Tuggeridge Coxe—who had been standing by, laughing very rudely, I thought—Master Tuggeridge Coxe, I say, flung his jacket suddenly into his mamma's face (the brass buttons made her start, and recovered her a little), and, before we could say a word, was in the ring in which we stood (formed by the porters, nine orangemen and women, I don't know how many newspaper boys, hotel cads, and old clothesmen), and, whirling about two little white fists in the face of the gentleman in the red waistcoat, who brought a great pair of black ones up to bear on the enemy, was engaged in an instant.
But, law bless you! Tug hadn't been at Richmond School for nothing; and milled away—one, two, right and left—like a little hero as he is, with all his dear mother's spirit in him: first came a crack which sent his white hat spinning over the gentleman's cab, and scattered among the crowd a vast number of things which the cabman kept in it,—such as a ball of string, a piece of candle, a comb, a whip-lash, a little warbler, a slice of bacon, &c. &c.
The cabman seemed sadly ashamed of this display, but Tug gave him no time: another blow was planted on his cheek-bone; and a third, which hit him straight on the nose, sent this rude cabman straight down to the ground.
"Brayvo, my lord!" shouted all the people around.
"I won't have no more, thank yer," said the little cabman, gathering himself up; "give us over my fare, vil yer, and let me git away?"