It was not Tom's wish to use his sword, but he applied his good
cudgel freely to the back of the bully, who was more his own height
and make than any of the others. Bully Bullen swore, and raved, and
threatened, and made ineffectual efforts to draw his rapier and run
his antagonist through the body. But he had been drinking, and
neither hand nor eye were steady; whilst Tom's clutch upon his coat
collar, as he kept swinging him half off his feet, and laying his
stout staff to his back, almost throttled him, and rendered his
efforts abortive.
Once Slippery Seal showed himself worthy of his name, by slipping
through the clutches of Harry, and dashing to get a good blow at
Tom, for whom these four worthies had conceived a powerful hatred;
but Tom saw the advance, and cleverly swerved round, so that the
blow descended upon the luckless Bullen, who roared anew with rage
and pain.
"Let them go now! let them go!" cried Rosamund at last, half
frightened at the scrimmage, and almost ready to pity the ruffians,
who were getting so much the worst of it.
Lusty William had quickly laid Dicing Dick prostrate on mother
earth, and was giving a drubbing to Thirsty Thring, who was
helpless in his stout grasp. This attack, so unexpected and so
resolute, had quite taken the wind out of the sails of the
blustering four; and when, at Rosamund's cry, their antagonists
paused and gave to each a parting kick, they had no desire to do
anything but slink away with bruised shoulders--black rage in their
hearts.
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