“Well?” said Tom.
“That’s about all, gov’nor,” said the man, looking into his dilapidated hat, and then lifting and peeping inside the lining, as if he expected to find some more there.
“No, it ain’t,” said the constable, “come now. He give you something, didn’t he?”
“Well, s’pose he did,” said the man, sulkily; “that ain’t got nothing to do with it, ’ave it? The gent don’t want to rob a pore man of his ’ard earnin’s, do he?”
“What did he give you, my man?” said Tom, eagerly, “There, there, show me. Not that it matters.”
“Yes, sir, excuse me, but it does matter,” said the constable. “Now then, out with it.”
The man thrust his hand very unwillingly into his pocket, and brought out what looked like a small shilling, which was eagerly snatched by Tom.
“Vittoria Emanuele—Lira. Why, constable, it’s an Italian piece!”
“That’s so, sir,” said the constable.
“There, be off with you; there’s half a crown for you,” said Tom. “Constable,” he cried, as the latter closed the door on the walking rag-bag, “quick, not a moment to be lost. That cabman’s number, and as soon as you can.”