The incident had not passed unobserved. From a doorway close at hand a bullet-headed man, whose cranial outline was the more strongly marked because of the closely cropped hair, was looking on with a grin on his countenance, while across the road a couple of policemen were also watching. The bullet-headed person spoke suddenly.
"You run away and stop worriting the good gen'l'man," he said.
The boy looked up, caught sight of the policemen, and whirling on his heels disappeared like a rabbit into its burrow.
"The very kids in this street learn to tell the tale afore they can walk," remarked the round-head pleasantly.
"I'm afraid it's a very wicked street," said Hora with a sigh. "The devil has many disciples in Fancy Lane."
"Guess you're right there, guvnor," replied the man. "There's two on 'em comin' across the road to talk to you now." There was a shadow of a wink in his eye.
"Let me hope you will have nothing to do with them," said Hora earnestly, "any more than I should myself. You must know where companionship of that sort leads."
"I know that right enough," said the man passing his hand over his closely cropped hair. "I don't have no more truck with that sort than I can help."
Hora reopened his bag and took from it a tract.
"You may find some helpful words here," he said. "This little story is called 'The Downward Path.' Take it and it may prove a blessing to you."