As the worthy bailiff concluded his speech, the company primed their glasses, rose, and drank the toast with enthusiasm. Lusty cheers broke from the drier throats outside; caps were waved, rattles whirled, kettles beaten, with a vigour that could not have been exceeded if the general loyalty had been stirred by the presence of King George himself. Only one man in the crowd held his peace. The stranger remained opposite to the window, silent, motionless, looking now into the room, now round upon the throng, with the same smile of whimsical amusement. Only once did his manner change; the smile faded, his lips met in a straight line, and he made a slight rearward movement, seeming at the same moment to lose something of his height. It was when the guest of the evening stood up to reply: a young man, looking somewhat older than his twenty-nine years, his powdered hair crowning a strong face, with keen, deep-set eyes, full lips and masterful chin. He wore a belaced purple coat; a crimson sash crossed his embroidered vest; a diamond flashed upon his finger. Letting his eyes range slowly over the flushed faces of the diners, he waited until the bailiff had waved down the untiring applauders without; then, in a clear voice, began: "Bailiff Malkin, my old friends----" But his speech was broken in upon by a sudden commotion in the street. Loud cries of a different tenor arose at various points; the boys who had been hanging upon the window-ledge dropped to the ground; the crowd surged this way and that, and above the mingled clamour sounded a wild and fearful squeal that drew many of the company to their feet and several in alarm to the window. Among these the bailiff, red now with anger, shook his fist at the people and demanded the meaning of the disturbance. A small boy, his eyes round with excitement, piped up: "An’t please yer worship, ’tis a wild Injun come from nowheer an’ doin’ all manner o’ wickedness." "A wild Injun! Cotch him! Ring the ’larum bell! Put him in the stocks!" But the bailiff’s commands passed unheeded. The people were thronging up the street, elbowing each other, treading on each other’s toes, yelling, booing, forgetful of all save the strange coincidence that, on this evening of all others, the banquet in honour of Clive, the Indian hero, had been interrupted by the sudden appearance of a live Indian in their very midst.