At sight of the mob crowding into the place, Deacon Cornhill gave a cry
of fear and turned pale, as he looked hurriedly about for some way of
escape.
The room seemed to have but one door opening on the street, and that
was now blocked with the incoming men, the leader of whom showed a
bright button on his coat, while he flourished a club in his right hand
as he uttered the words given in my last chapter.
The owner behind the counter uttered a cry of terror, and ducked his
head out of sight, while the clinking of breaking glass followed his
disappearance, a big pitcher having been upset and rolled off onto the
floor.
So, all in all, it was a pretty exciting scene for a while.
Ragged Rob spoke next, at the same time stepping forward to meet the
officer fearlessly:
“Who are you looking for, Whalen?”
“That chap behind ye.”
“Name him and you may have him. But not till you do,” replied Little
Hickory, defiantly.
“I reckon names don’t matter when we run down sich covies.”
“They do in this case. This ain’t the man you are after, Whalen!”
“W’at d’ye know erbout it, Little Hickory?”
“All there is to be known, Whalen. Can’t ye see this is a hayseed from
the country? Your man is a thorough-bred. Oh, I know who you are after.”
“I reckon a man’s a man,” muttered the officer, who appeared as if he
had seen that he had made a mistake, but disliked to own up to it.
“Half an hour ago your man was steering toward the point, Whalen.
’Pears to me, with sich a reward at stake, I wouldn’t lose any more
time with sich an old duffer as this covey, who won’t be worth a cent
to ye after all yer trouble.”
Whalen could see the truth of this statement, and he cleared his way to
get out by asking:
“You ain’t giving me misleader, Little Hickory?”
“No, Whalen. I advise ye to get on to the trail while the scent is
fresh.”
Without another word the officer turned about, and, still followed by
his crowd, left the saloon.
Deacon Cornhill stood staring after the departed officer and his men
for some time in silence, while Ragged Rob resumed work upon his shoes.
Brattle’s head reappeared above the top of the counter, coming into
sight slowly and with evident caution on the part of the owner, as if
he was in doubt about the wisdom of the move.
“You haven’t answered my question,” said the bootblack, bringing Deacon
Cornhill back to his situation. “Can my friends come with me?”
“Sart’in; every one of them. How many are there?”
Rob shook his head, though evidently not in reply to the other’s
question, but relative to some thought in his mind. Presently he said:
“You are very kind, sir, but it cannot be. This is my life, and I could
not fit into another. Good-day, sir; but, stay! I’ll not leave you in
the gutter this time. If you want to find a stopping place for the
night I will show you the way.”
Feeling that it would be useless to press his wishes further then,
Deacon Cornhill followed him in silence, though resolved in his mind to
renew the subject at his first opportunity. In the midst of their rapid
advance he suddenly became aware of the presence of another boy who was
five or six years younger than Rob. He was more ragged than the other;
in fact, he was little but rags, though there was a saucy defiance in
his pinched, unwashed features which showed that he had little care for
his personal appearance, or what another might think.
Rob evidently knew him, for he asked, familiarly:
“What luck to-day, old man?”
“Made eleven cents and blowed in three. Say,” he added, in an
undertone, though loud enough to be heard by Deacon Cornhill, “got a
big duck? Looks awful green.”
“Hush!” warned Rob, adding in a louder key: “I’ve got to see the gent
here gets to Bradford’s O. K. Then I’ll hev you go home with me.”
“What’s your name, bub?” asked the deacon, who felt it a duty to say
something.
“Chick.”
“I mean the name your parents gave you.”
“Golly; what an idee. Never had any, mister.”
“Where do you live?”
“Nowhere.”
“Onpossible. Where’d you stop last night?”
“Corner A and Tenth Street.”
“Whose house, I mean. I hope it was a good man’s.”
“Dunno ’bout that, sir. I didn’t see him, nor I didn’t go in.”
“But you said you stopped there?”
“So I did.”
“How could that be if you did not go in?”
“My cracky! ain’t you green? S’pose I’d gone in, how long d’ye s’pose
I’d been guv to git out?”
“I don’t understand you, bub.”
“Any more’n I do sich a cabbage as you. I reckon there’s a way o’
stopping at a gentleman’s house without bothering him wid your comp’ny.”
“How can that be?” asked the wondering deacon, believing the boy was
guying him. “How could you stop at a man’s house without seeing any one
or they seeing you?”
“Slept under th’ covin’, mister.”
“Marcy me! out in the night? S’posin’ it’d rained?”
“I’d got wet, I s’pose, seein’ I’m not canvas-backed,” with a grin.
“And got your death of cold?”
“Ain’t so sure on that, mister. Th’ sun has alwus dried a feller out
slick, and I ain’t heerd as he’s goin’ out’n bizness jis yit.”
“What do you do, Chick?--I think you said that was your name?”
“Pick up odd jobs, by which I can turn a penny, sir. My family is
small, so I don’t hev to hev much.”
“Ain’t you got any folks?”
“Nope.”
“Don’t you get tired of living like this?”
“Don’t know any other way, mister.”
“What a pity! In this Christian land, too!”
“Got any more questions to ax, mister?” as the other hesitated; “’cos
if ye hev I shall hev to begin to ax ye a fee, same’s the big chucks
do up in the recorder’s office.”
Before Deacon Cornhill could reply he became aware of the confusion
arising from a crowd of people standing about the entrance to a gloomy
structure near at hand.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, in surprise.
“Only a girl up for vagrancy,” replied a bystander. “It don’t take much
to draw a crowd. But she is a pert one, and with a boy’s name.”
“What is it?” asked Rob, beginning to show interest.
“Joe Willet, or some such a name, she gave the recorder.”
Without waiting for him to finish his speech, Rob began to elbow his
way through the jostling crowd, and a moment later passed the high
portals of the wide door.
“Here, here, my son!” cried Deacon Cornhill, excitedly, “hold on for
me!” And, regardless of the jeers and outbursts of the spectators, he
made a furious dash after his young guide.
“Hi, mister!” cried Chick, trying to keep beside the other, “keep
with me an’ we’ll find Little Hickory.” Then he added to the amused
onlookers; “Of all the dratted old fools I ever see he’s the lunkinest!”
Meanwhile Rob had got inside of the building, and, regardless of the
curious spectators gathered on either hand, he pushed his way forward
until he had reached a small court or opening before a high desk,
above which the gray head of the stern recorder could be seen, as he
looked calmly down at a frail girl, trembling from head to foot, as she
stood beside the iron railing in grief and terror.
She was clad in a ragged dress, without any covering for her head.
Though her features were bathed in tears, her brown hair had been cut
short, and there was a general appearance of despair in her looks and
actions, she was an attractive girl.
At sight of her Rob stopped suddenly in his impetuous advance, crying,
in a voice heard in every part of the old building:
“Joey! I have found you at last. Have courage! Ragged Rob is still your
friend, if every one else in the world turns against you.”