The Trojan blood was up.
It was the signal for a general sack.

Flinging off his Sunday coat, each deluded tradesman seized upon his property, or ransacked the house until he found it.

The ironmonger caught up his fire-irons, the carpenter pulled down his shelves, the grocer dived into the pantry and emerged with tea and candles.

It is said that the coal-merchant--who was a dandy--procured a sack, and with his own hand emptied the coal-cellar within half an hour.
As each fresh article was confiscated, the crowd cheered anew.
Never was such a scene in Troy.

Even the local aristocracy-- the _Cumeelfo_--mingled with the throng and watched the havoc as curiously as their neighbours.
No member of the Buzza family was there, nor Mr.Moggridge.