Every one knows how easily a crowd is collected in London, and it cannot be supposed that our two antiquaries would be allowed to pursue their investigations unmolested. Several ragged urchins got round them, and tried to discover what they were looking at, at the same time cutting their jokes upon them. These were speedily joined by a street-sweeper, rather young in the profession, a ticket-porter, a butcher's apprentice, an old Israelitish clothes-man, a coalheaver, and a couple of charity-boys. "My eyes!" cried the street-sweeper, "only twig these coves. If they ain't green 'uns, I'm done." "Old Spectacles thinks he has found it all out," remarked the porter; "ve shall hear wot it all means by-and-by." "Plesh ma 'art," cried the Jew, "vat two funny old genelmen. I vonder vat they thinks they sees?" "I'll tell 'ee, master," rejoined the butcher's apprentice; "they're a tryin' vich on 'em can see farthest into a millstone." [Illustration: Antiquaries.] "Only think of living all my life in London, and never examining this admirable work of art before!" cried Loftus, quite unconscious that he had become the object of general curiosity. "Look closer at it, old gem'man," cried the porter. "The nearer you get, the more you'll admire it." "Quite true," replied Loftus, fancying Morse had spoken; "it'll bear the closest inspection." "I say, Ned," observed one of the charity-boys to the other, "do you get over the railin'; they must ha' dropped summat inside. See what it is." "I'm afraid o' spikin' myself, Joe," replied the other; "but just give us a lift, and I'll try." "Wot are you arter there, you young rascals?" cried the coalheaver; "come down, or I'll send the perlice to you." "Wot two precious guys these is!" cried a ragamuffin lad, accompanied by a bulldog. "I've a good mind to chuck the little 'un off the post, and set Tartar at him. Here, boy, here!" "That 'ud be famous fun, indeed, Spicer!" cried another rapscallion behind him. "Arrah! let 'em alone, will you there, you young divils!" cried an Irish bricklayer; "don't you see they're only two paiceable antiquaries." "Oh, they're antiquaries, are they?" screamed the little street-sweeper. "Vell, I never see the likes on 'em afore; did you, Sam?" "Never," replied the porter. "Och, murther in Irish! ye're upsettin' me, an' all the fruits of my industry," cried an applewoman, against whom the bricklayer had run his barrow. "Divil seize you for a careless wagabone! Why don't you look where ye're goin', and not dhrive into people in that way?" "Axes pardon, Molly," said the bricklayer; "but I was so inter_est_ed in them antiquaries, that I didn't obsarve ye." "Antiquaries be hanged! what's such warmint to me?" cried the applewoman furiously. "You've destroyed my day's market, and bad luck to ye!" "Well, never heed, Molly," cried the good-natured bricklayer; "I'll make it up t'ye. Pick up your apples, and you shall have a dhrop of the craiter if you'll come along wid me."