dent that you didn't get enough flogging
when you were at school, or you'd know better manners; I must take you
in hand a bit now, sir, there!"

With his stick he gave a cut to the palm of Murray's hand, just as he
was wont to do to refractory pupils in the old days.

Murray was livid with rage.

Chivey, now rather afraid of Mole, didn't interfere.

"Come on, if you like, and have some more," said Mole, and shaking his
stick at both of them, he again urged on his wild career.

Very wild indeed it was, too.

Mole's patent legs, which outwardly looked natural ones, were indeed
self-regulating, for they were soon utterly beyond the control of the
wearer; they seemed to be possessed of wills of their own; one wished
to go to the right, the other to the left.

Sometimes they would carry him along in double quick march time, and
anon halt, beyond all his power of budging.

Of course the boys of the town were attracted by the stranger's
singular movements, and began to hoot and jeer.

The merchants were interrupted at their calculations, the bazaar
keepers came to their doors, long pipe in mouth, to see what the "son
of Sheitan" was about.

Mole was red in the face with such hard work.

"Confound the Turks," he cried; "why don't they make their roads
smoother? Oh, dear, I wish I could manage these unhappy legs; there
they go."

By this time the crowd had become unpleasantly dense around him.

"Out of the way, un-Christian dogs," cried Mole, flourishing his stick
round his head; "I'm an Englishman, and I've a right to--hallo! there
it goes again."

[Illustration: "'OUT OF THE WAY, UNCHRISTIAN DOGS,' CRIED
MOLE."--TINKER, VOL. II.]

For here his left leg took two steps to the right, and he came down
with all his weight upon the toe of a white-bearded Alla-hissite.

"Son of a dog," growled the old Turk, as he rubbed his pet corn in
agony; "may your mother's grave be defiled, and the jackass bray over
your father's bones."

"I really beg your pardon," began Mole, but just at this moment his
right leg was taken with a spasmodic action, and began to stride along
at a furious rate, creaking like mad.

Mole lost all control (if he ever had any) over his own movements, and
was carried forward again, till he came where Herbert Murray and
Chivey, having made a _detour_, happened to be just turning the
corner of the street.

"Stop me," yelled Mole, as he flourished his stick over his head; "my
spring legs