The girl dodges in and out amongst the crowd that is waiting for the trams, selling her papers, quite heedless of the boys’ angry voices, which follow her with abuse. But as Claude comes upon the scene one youthful protectionist has caught the diminutive object of his wrath, and gives her several blows in the face with his open hand. No one interferes. A newsgirl getting a beating for cutting into the trade of the “regular” boys is to be seen any night in Sydney, and consequently is not worth interfering about. In this case, however, the boy goes off howling instead of the girl, the result of a cut from Claude’s cane. Angland is immediately surrounded by a contingent of youthful “regulars,” and a little hubbub of flat-toned voices rains upon him—
“What er you a-hittin of ’im fur?”
“The gent’s mad cos ’is gurl hain’t met ’im!”
“Yah, you wid the stick; ’it a man yur hown size!”
Claude of course does not heed the abuse, but firmly impresses upon the erring lad he had chastened that if he touches the girl again he will thrash him soundly.
“Hain’t ’e got er right ter ’it ’er?” shrieks a catfish-mouthed manikin, resting his head against an adjacent verandah-post, as street-curs sometimes do when they howl. “Hain’t ’e got er right ter ’it ’er? She’s ’is sister.”
This evidence in favour of the accused is hailed with a cackling chorus of approval by the remainder of the boys, amidst which Claude takes the girl aside to question her a bit.
She informs him, in better English than the boys employ, that she must sell two dozen “Stars” and “Nooses” before she can go home.
“How long will that take you to do?”
“Ten o’clock; p’r’aps a bit later; p’r’aps a bit hearlier.”