As the bully beaux got deeper in their cups, so did their baiting of young Tom increase in offensiveness and coarseness.  The hot flush of anger kept rising in the young man’s face, and there were moments when a fight was imminent, which was perhaps what the aggressors desired.  Harry was still in the outer room, or he would have interposed, for it was not a nice thing to be the butt of a set of braggarts and bullies, and this fashion of drawing a young man into their clutches was by no means unusual.

Suddenly, as matters seemed to be getting ripe for some outbreak of fury on Tom’s part, which might well lead to disastrous results, a sudden clear, resonant voice rose above the hubbub, and dominated all other tones by a peculiar property impossible to describe.

“Let that lad alone, you cowards!” spoke the voice, in tones of unmistakable authority.  “Get out of this place, you swaggering bullies!  Are we to have no peace even in this inner room, for your filibustering ways?  Go and bluster out yonder, if bluster you must.  Speak a single word of insolence to me—­” and here the blue eyes seemed to flash fire—­“and I will have every one of you ducked in the Thames three times ere you take a step from hence!  Now, will you go quietly?”

It was strange to see the change which came over these young rakes the moment that the clear, cold tones of Lord Claud’s voice fell upon their ears.  They stopped, they cringed, they looked one at the other, and then back at him, as a whipped dog looks at the master who rates him.  Thirsty Thring, who had drunk the most deeply, and who was in consequence most filled with Dutch courage, ventured once to look as though he were about to resist, or to dispute the mandate of Lord Claud; but no sooner had he provoked that flash of the eyes, than he too was cringing more humbly than his fellows.

To the great amazement of Tom, they took up their hats, and slunk from the room like so many whipped curs.  He heard them the next minute chartering a wherry to take them to the shore once more.

Lord Claud had taken up his paper again, but meeting Tom’s bashful glance of mingled gratitude and admiration, he remarked to him with a quiet smile: 

“You are a stranger to London and its sons, lad; take this bit of advice from one who knows both well:  Never let any man badger and insult you.  Take no word from any; but return it with a blow or a sword thrust.  Make your name feared—­it is the surest road to success.  Tavern and street brawls are taken little note of by the administrators of the law; but better a few weeks’ discipline in Newgate, than to be the butt and victim of a set of vulgar street swaggerers and swashbucklers such as those worthies we have just seen depart.”

Tom had risen and had slowly approached Lord Claud.  Now that the hour for the play had all but come, the room was thinning of its guests.  He felt more courage to speak to this strange being, who seemed so great a personage.