Page:Richard Marsh--The joss, a reversion.djvu/26

14 “Are you sure they’ve been following us?” whispered Tom to Emily.

“Certain. They’ve been sticking close at our heels ever since we came away from Firandolo’s.”

The fact was put beyond dispute before we had gone another fifty yards. The two men drew up close in front of us, in such a way that it would have been difficult for us to pass without pushing them aside.

“Which of you two ladies is Miss Blyth?” asked the stout man, in the most impudent manner.

On a sudden I was becoming the object of undesired attention which I did not at all understand, and liked, if possible, still less. The fellow looked us up and down, as if we had been objects offered for sale.

“What has it to do with you?” returned Tom. “Who are you, anyhow?”

The thin man answered; the stout man had spoken in a shrill squeaky treble, he had the deepest possible bass.

“We’re the young lady’s friends; her two friends. Ain’t that gospel, Sam?”

“It’s that, William; it’s gospel truth. Truer friends than us she’ll never have, nor none what’s more ready to do her a good turn.”

“Not if she was to spend the rest of her days sailing round the world looking for ’em, she’d never find ’em, that she wouldn’t. All we ask is for her to treat us as her friends.” The thin man spat upon the pavement. “Now then, out with it; which of you two ladies is Miss Blyth?”

“I’m not,” cried Emily.

Which I thought was distinctly mean of her, because, of course, it was as good as saying that I was. Once more the stout man looked me up and down.

“You’re her, are you? So I thought. The other’s too pretty, by chalks. You’re a chip of the old block,