If Green Ginger Land itself was smelly, Paradise Court in its dark narrowness was so foul that Emmeline might have covered her nose if she had not been too intent on avoiding the filthy, half-naked babies who were sprawling about everywhere to pay much heed to anything else. What she did notice, however, was that evil-looking men and lads were appearing at several of the doors.
Suddenly a stone came whizzing through the air from behind, almost, though not quite, hitting her. A great shout of cruel laughter burst from the mob of children—laughter in which more than one hoarse man’s voice joined.
‘O, God, help me to be brave! Help me not to run away!’ prayed Emmeline in desperate terror.
Another stone flew past her, and the shouts became louder. Hardly knowing what she did, she made blindly for a door, and thumped at it madly. After what seemed like an eternity, though it was really only a second or two, a woman’s face was poked out.
‘Oh, please,’ said Emmeline, ‘is this where Mrs. Grimes lives?’
‘No, it ain’t,’ said the woman sharply, and before Emmeline could get out anything more she slammed the door in her face.
Emmeline felt as though she were living through some horrible nightmare. In front of her was the closed door; behind her the jeering crowd of children seemed to her terrified senses to be a howling, murderous mob.
Another cruel stone which only just missed made her cower with her head between her hands. ‘Oh, help me not to run away!’ she prayed again.
‘What’s up? What are you doing of, you little varmints?’ called out a rough, but not unkindly voice close to her. Looking up, she saw a stout young man of truculent aspect standing at her side. ‘Just you leave this young lady alone, or I’ll break every bone in your bodies!’ he continued cheerfully.
Perhaps Emmeline’s tormentors knew by experience that the young man’s rough words were no mere figure of speech, for they slunk back, and one little boy who had just been to the road to pick up another stone thought better of it and dropped it on the pavement. ‘I’m bothered if Bully Ben ain’t turning a blooming saint!’ called out a bold spirit; and there were other remarks of the same kind, which did not, however, seem in the least to disturb Bully Ben’s serenity.