Being a 'prentice, and not in the humour for knocks of that kind, I swung round on the fellow to kick him for his clumsiness, when he looked me suddenly in the face and uttered my name.
It was Ludar.
It was my turn now to reel like a drunken man; and so mighty a knock did my heart give against my ribs that I believe I should have fallen had he not roughly caught my arm and muttered-- "Not a word, but lead on." And he staggered away, smacking his whip and calling to his horse to go forward.
I walked on in a dream, knowing by the crack of the whip behind that he followed at a distance, yet never daring to turn my head.

At last, as we came near Smithfield, I looked back.

He lay on the top of a load of hay in his cart, singing aloud noisily and cracking his whip, and seeming no more concerned in me or any one else than the patient horse he drove.
The market place was full of carts, amidst which he was presently able to leave his own and come near where I stood with a crowd looking at some bulls just brought in.

He had left his whip behind, by which I guessed he had done with his cart and was free to follow me on foot.

So presently I edged out and wandered slowly back citywards.