The speaker shook the ugly stick he carried at the young man as he spoke, and his great massive head, with its unkempt grizzled hair and untended beard and whiskers, looked anything but pleasant; for from beneath his shaggy, overhanging brows his eyes seemed to flash again. "I didn't try to knock you down," shouted Tom, putting his face close to that of the old fellow, who looked as if his seventy years had been spent in gathering dirt more than in cleaning it off. "Don't shout. I'm not so deaf as all that, you ugly ruffian. Pick up those boots." Tom stooped, and picked up a very old pair of unpolished boots that the other had been carrying beneath his arm, and had let fall on the pavement in the collision. "There you are, Mr Hopper, and I beg your pardon, and I'm very sorry," said Tom, smiling pleasantly. "There you are," he continued, tucking the boots under his arm. "It's all right now." "What are you halloaing like that for, you ugly young bull-calf?" snarled the old fellow, shaking his stick. "Do you think I want all the people in the Buildings to come out and listen? Don't I tell you I'm not so deaf as all that, hang you? What are you going to do with that girl?" "Only going down into the City," replied Tom. "Hey?" said the old fellow. "City!" shouted Tom. "Oh! Does your father know you're going with her?" cried the old fellow, with a malevolent grin beginning to overspread his countenance. "No," said Tom, flushing slightly; while Jessie began to look troubled. "Hey?" "No!" shouted Tom. "Does her father know you've come?" said the old fellow, pointing at Jessie with his stick. "No!" said Tom stoutly, and beginning to grow indignant. "Then," continued the old man, chuckling, and rubbing his hands together, and dropping first his stick and then his boots, which Jessie hastened to pick up, "I'll go and see Mr Shingle to-night, and tell him; and I'll wait here till Richard Shingle comes home, and I'll tell him; and there'll be the devilishest devil of a row about it that ever was. You've no business here, and you know it, you scoundrel. She isn't good enough for you. You're to marry the fair Violante--the violent girl. There'll be a storm for you to-night, young fellow; so look out." "I'll trouble you to mind your own business, Mr Hopper," exclaimed Tom hotly. "Hey?" said the old fellow, holding a boot up to his right ear, like a speaking trumpet. "I say, if you get interfering with my affairs, Mr Hopper," cried Tom angrily, and paying no heed to a whispered remonstrance from Jessie, "I'll--" "I can't hear a word you say: try the right side." As he spoke, he held the other boot to his left ear, and leaned forward in an irritating manner, grinning the while at the speaker. "I say that if you dare to--"