"It ain't, eh? Whose fault is it; mine?"
Johnny hesitated. His eyes sought the ground, then wandered toward Bradford, who studiously avoided the look.
"I can't squeal," he said, quietly.
"Oh, hell! You ain't got nothin' to squeal. Get your coat and cap."
Johnny passed the night in the dungeon. This morning he came up, his cheeks more sunken, his eyes more hollow. With desperate energy he worked. He toiled steadily, furiously, his gaze fastened upon the growing pile of hosiery. Occasionally he shot a glance at Bradford, who, confident of the officer's favor, met the look of hatred with a sly winking of the left eye.
Once Johnny, without pausing in the work, slightly turned his head in my direction. I smiled encouragingly, and at that same instant I saw Jack's hand slip across the table and quickly snatch a handful of Johnny's stockings. The next moment a piercing shriek threw the shop into commotion. With difficulty they tore away the infuriated boy from the prostrate Bradford. Both prisoners were taken to the Deputy for trial, with Senior Officer Cosson as the sole witness.
Impatiently I awaited the result. Through the open window I saw the overseer return. He entered the shop, a smile about the corners of his mouth. I resolved to speak to him when he passed by.
"Mr. Cosson," I said, with simulated respectfulness, "may I ask you a question?"
"Why, certainly, Burk, I won't eat you. Fire away!"
"What have they done with the boys?"