CHAPTER II
"GO YOUR OWN WAY YOU UNGRATEFUL MINX"
The mob roared approval at the prospect of a fight, and though the
combatants were unfairly matched some of the ruffians urged the girl to
retaliate.
"Go for her hair, little un," one shouted. "There's plenty of it. Once
you get a fair hold and tear out a handful she'll squeak, I'll warrant."
The advice was not taken and maybe nobody expected it would be. Anyway,
before Sally could renew the attack her arm was seized by a man, slight
in stature and with a naturally humorous expression on his lean narrow
face and in his bright twinkling eyes.
"Enough of this brawling, mistress. If you _must_ fight choose someone
as big and as strong as yourself, not a lambkin."
The crowd knew him and whispers went round. "That's Spiller--Jemmy
Spiller the famous play actor." "No, is it though. Lord, he can make
folks laugh--ah, split their sides a'most. I see him last Saturday at
Master Rich's theayter in the Fields, and I thought I should ha' died."
Spiller was better at making people laugh than at holding an infuriated
woman. But he had two friends with him, stalwart butchers from Clare
Market, and he turned the task over to them with the remark that they
were used to handling mad cattle.
At this point Gay and Leveridge forced their way through the crowd. Gay
saw the red angry mark on the girl's pallid face and guessed the cause.
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