an, thickly, recognising "Cobbler"
Horn in turn. "D'yer think 'cause ye're rich, yer has right t' say where
I shall go in, and where I shan't go in?"

"Oh, no, Richard," said "Cobbler" Horn, with his hand still on the man's
arm. "But you've had enough drink, and had better go quietly home."

As he spoke, he gradually drew his captive further away from the
public-house. The man struggled furiously, talking all the time in rapid
and excited tones.

"Let me a-be!" he exclaimed with a thickness of tone which was the
combined result of indignation and strong drink. "You ha' no right to
handle me like this! Ain't this a free country? Where's the perlice?"

"Come along, Richard; you'll thank me to-morrow," persisted "Cobbler"
Horn quietly, moving his captive along another step or two. But, by this
time, a crowd was beginning to gather; and it seemed likely that, although
Richard himself might not be able effectually to resist his captor,
"Cobbler" Horn's purpose would be frustrated in another way. In fact the
crowd--a sadly dilapidated crew--had drawn so closely around the centre of
interest, as to render almost impossible the further progress of the
struggling pair.

At this point, some one recognised "Cobbler" Horn.

"Yah!" he cried, "it ain't a fight, after all! It's 'the Golden Shoemaker'
a-collarin' a cove wot's drunk!"

At the announcement of "the Golden Shoemaker," the people crowded up more
closely than ever. While all had heard of that glittering phenomenon,
perhaps few had actually seen him, and the present opportunity was not to
be lost.

"Cobbler" Horn grasped the situation, and resolved, under the inspiration
of the moment, to turn it to good account. He was not afraid that these
people would interfere with his present purpose. He could see that they
were regarding him with too much interest and respect for that. Moreover,
since Richard belonged to another part of the town, his fortunes would not
awaken any special sympathy in the breasts of the crowd. On the other
hand, there was a possibility that the delay caused by the gathering of
the crowd might enable "Cobbler" Horn to make a deeper impression on his
poor degraded friend, than if he had simply dragged him home from the
public-house. Exerting, therefore, all his strength, he thrust the hapless
Richard forth at arm's length, and, in emphatic tones, bespoke for him the
attention of the crowd.

"Look at him!" he exclaimed. "Once he was a respectable m