When they appeared upon the street, however, the passersby stopped and stared at the curious pair—Bob, in his worn, ill-fitting suit, and the darky, very black, clad in the latest fashion—with amazement.
One woman, whose hair was tinged with gray, and whose aquiline features, severe clothes and general mien bespoke the spinster who always had time to meddle in other people's affairs, exclaimed to the person nearest her:
"There is certainly something wrong here. I feel it in my bones. That colored person is taking this boy somewhere for no good purpose. I think it is my duty to interfere."
"Oh, I wouldn't bother," returned the member of the throng whom she had addressed. "The boy seems to be going along willingly enough."
"But I think it is my duty to make sure," persisted the officious spinster. "My conscience will never be easy in the thought that perhaps if I had spoken, I might have saved the boy from some terrible fate."
During this conversation, Bob and the porter had walked almost half a block. But both of them had heard the first remarks, and as the would-be rescuer set out in pursuit of them, Bob chanced to look back, and saw her coming, followed by several of the crowd who had first stopped to watch them in the hopes that they might be afforded some amusement from the woman's interference.
Unwilling to become the cause of a street scene, Bob turned to his companion, and said:
"I—I guess, after all, it won't be necessary for me to trouble you to go about with me."
"It will be no trouble, and Ah sho' am willing to do most anything for you 'count o' that note you gave me for Massa Perkins."
"Oh, that's all right," hastily returned Bob. "I was glad to do it. I only hope that it will be successful in letting you get back your job."