“What a pity! In this Christian land, too!”
“Got any more questions to ax, mister?” as the other hesitated; “’cos if ye hev I shall hev to begin to ax ye a fee, same’s the big chucks do up in the recorder’s office.”
Before Deacon Cornhill could reply he became aware of the confusion arising from a crowd of people standing about the entrance to a gloomy structure near at hand.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, in surprise.
“Only a girl up for vagrancy,” replied a bystander. “It don’t take much to draw a crowd. But she is a pert one, and with a boy’s name.”
“What is it?” asked Rob, beginning to show interest.
“Joe Willet, or some such a name, she gave the recorder.”
Without waiting for him to finish his speech, Rob began to elbow his way through the jostling crowd, and a moment later passed the high portals of the wide door.
“Here, here, my son!” cried Deacon Cornhill, excitedly, “hold on for me!” And, regardless of the jeers and outbursts of the spectators, he made a furious dash after his young guide.
“Hi, mister!” cried Chick, trying to keep beside the other, “keep with me an’ we’ll find Little Hickory.” Then he added to the amused onlookers; “Of all the dratted old fools I ever see he’s the lunkinest!”