Here, as the Methodists stood before him with folded hands, a lump of
filth flew past the Mayor's ear and bespattered the lamp-post.

"Damme, who did that?" his Worship demanded. "John Sprott, who threw
that muck?"

"I don't know the man's name, your Worship: but he's yonder, there,
in a striped shirt open at the neck, with a little round hat on the
back of his head; and, what's more, I see'd him do it."

"Then take down his description, John Sprott, and write that at the
words 'Our sovereign Lord' he shied a lump of muck."

John Sprott pulled out a note-book and entered the offence.

"And after 'muck,' John Sprott, write 'God save the King.' I don't
know that 'tis necessary, but you'll be on the safe side."
His Worship unfolded the proclamation again, cleared his throat, and
resumed:

"_Our sovereign Lord the King chargeth and commandeth all persons,
being assembled, immediately to disperse themselves and peacefully to
depart to their habitations or to their lawful business, upon the
pains contained in the Act made in the first year of George the First
for preventing--_"

A handful of more or less liquid mud here took him on the nape of the
neck and splashed over the paper which he held in both hands.