“Yes,” said Frank hoarsely. “I gave him a biscuit.”
“Then what’s this?” said the man who held him, wrenching open Drew’s hand, in spite of a great show of resistance, and seizing a shilling. “You managed to rob him, then.”
“No, no,” said Frank. “I gave him the money.”
That disarmed suspicion.
“But he’d sneaked round behind you. I watched him, and found him here where he had crawled, and lay pretending to be asleep. I wager you had not seen him.”
“No,” said Frank sharply. “I had not seen him since he came up to beg;” and the boy drew a breath of relief, for he had shivered with the dread that the man was going to ask him if he knew that Drew was there.
“Better take your shilling back, sir,” said the man.
“I? No,” said Frank proudly. “Let the poor, shivering wretch go. He wants it badly enough.”
“Then thank your stars the young gentleman speaks for you,” said Bagot sharply. “Off with you, and don’t you show your face this way again.”
“Don’t you hit me then,” whimpered Drew. “Don’t you hit me;” and he limped off, repeating the words as he went, while Frank stood looking after him, feeling as if he could not stir a step.