“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 Street, Po’tl’nd Place, and not git my fare, marm?  Come, give me a suffering and a half, and don’t keep my hoss avaiting all day.”  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 won’t interfere in Thames Street; robbery is licensed there.  What was I to do?  Oh! my heart beats with paternal gratitude 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 up a great pair of black ones to bear on the enemy, was engaged in an instant.

But la 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 a long dusky white hat—­that looked damp and deep like a well, and had a long black crape-rag twisted round it—­first came a crack which sent this 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 cheekbone; 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?”

“What’s your fare, now, you cowardly little thief?” says Tug.

“Vy, then, two-and-eightpence,” says he.  “Go along,—­you know it is!” and two-and-eightpence he had; and everybody applauded Tug, and hissed the cab-boy, and asked Tug for something to drink.  We heard the packet-bell ringing, and all run down the stairs to be in time.