ong of hangers on.

As Tom walked onwards he realized for the first time in his life
what a rustic-looking fellow he must appear. He had felt himself
smart enough at home in his leather breeches, brown frieze
double-breasted coat, scarlet vest, and riding boots, his hair tied
behind with a scarlet riband to match the vest. But as he beheld
the fine gentlemen lounging arm in arm along the streets in their
huge curled wigs, gorgeous waistcoats reaching sometimes to the
knees, gold embroidered coats, with huge cuffs turned back almost
to the elbows, and scarfs of every hue of the rainbow supporting
their swords, he felt himself a mere boor and bumpkin, and wondered
much whether Master Cale would ever be able to turn him out a fine
gentleman, fit to associate with those he saw in the streets.

As he pursued his way westward, he met parties of young rakes and
roisterers setting out for the theatres, the play being then an
earlier function than it has become of late years.

These men were swaggering along arm in arm, exchanging ribald jests
with each other, and insulting the inoffensive passers by with
coarse remarks interlarded with oaths, and, whenever occasion
offered, tripping them up with their swords or canes and landing
them in the gutter.

Some of these worthies wore cockades or badges, and later on Tom
learned to know them as Darby captains, Tash captains, or
Cock-and-bottle captains, according to the special sort of
marauding which they favoured. He met one party of the dreaded
Mohocks, or Mohawks, reeling along half intoxicated already, and
ripe for any offensive mischief, which later in the day they were
certain to perpetrate. They eyed the young rustic askance as it
was, and Tom heard a whisper go through their ranks:

"Pity 'tis so early i' the day, or we'd sweat him rarely."

But he held his head high, and swaggered along as though he felt
himself a match for all and any who might attack him. Yet inwardly
he felt that he would never go abroad in town without a sword at
his girdle. What the "sweating" might be, he knew not; but he was
assured that it was some sort of assault upon his person.

At length he reached his destination, which was a shop of fine
appearance in Drury Lane, just off the main thoroughfare of
Holborn. It was then a street of some pretensions, albeit a narrow
one, and Tom's eyes soon espied the name he was in search of over
the door of a shop round which a score or more of gallants w