"P'raps you'll just use about as much of this here 'bus as you pays for," said the man seated dos-a-dos to him, and whom he had slightly pressed. Trevor started forward; for the remark was unpleasantly made, and qualified with offensive adjectives. Pratt looked anxious, and would gladly have finished the distance on foot; but to stop the omnibus, and get down, would probably have made bad worse--especially as Trevor only smiled, and sat up quite erect. "He've been taking more than his share of the 'bus ever since he got up," said the black-looking gentleman on the right, pressing closer to Trevor. "Keep yer own side, will yer?" Very pale and quiet, Richard Trevor edged a little more towards his companion; but this was only the signal for renewed insult, the knifeboard being in possession of the fellow's friends. "Where are you a-scrowging to?" said the fellow on Pratt's left. And then, acting in concert, he and his companions forced the little barrister closer to his friend. "Here, let's speak to the driver," said Trevor, quietly; but there was a dull red spot in each cheek. "No, no!" said Pratt. "It's not much further; don't let us have a row." "Mind your pockets, then," muttered Trevor. "Ah, just as I thought," said the fellow who had been ringleader throughout. "They're a talking about pockets--button up, gents." Here followed a roar of laughter, and a few more witticisms of a similar character were fired off. Then, seeing how patiently the two friends bore it all, a fresh crowding was tried, and one of the most offensive of the fellows called out to the man in velveteens-- "Why don't you leave off, Barney?" "Tain't me," said Barney, grinning hugely; "it's these here two swell mob blokes." There was another roar of laughter, which culminated in a shriek of delight when Barney of the black muzzle removed his pipe from his mouth, and designedly spat upon Trevor's glossy boot. The young man started as if he had been stung; but there was a quiet, firm pressure of his arm, and he said, in French-- "Is it much further to the course?" As he spoke, he quietly drew a white cambric handkerchief from his pocket, carefully removed all trace of the disgusting offence from his boot, and threw the handkerchief into the road, following it up by lighting a fresh cigar. "My! what a pity!" said the fellow, sneeringly, as he watched with curiosity the young man's action. "I am sorry. Wouldn't you like the handkerchief--again?" And he pointed to a boy who had just picked it up from the road. The pressure was again upon Trevor's arm, but he did not speak, and the only movement was a slight twitching about the muscles of the face.