He soon reached a corner where, if the pedestrians were less numerous, he was more than ever perplexed over the course for him to follow. On every hand the tumult of street traffic and the noise and confusion of city life bewildered him. As he stood there for a moment, looking anxiously about him, the sound of loud, angry voices arrested his attention, when he saw a small party of boys disputing and wrangling over some question. Then one of the group broke suddenly away from the others and fled, with two in furious pursuit.
Looking back over his shoulder as he ran, the youth did not seem to pay any heed to the course he took, and in spite of the deacon’s warning he struck him with such force that the startled man was hurled upon the sidewalk.
The boy fell on top of him, and the next moment the foremost of his pursuers cried:
“I’ve got ye, Slimmy! Say yer lied, or I’ll knock th’ teeth right out yer jaw!”
“Not for Joe!” retorted the fugitive, regaining his feet, but pulled down by the other.
“Won’t, won’t ye, ye sneak-eyed sinner! Oh, I’ll wallop——”
He had begun to pommel his victim unmercifully, while his companions urged him on with words of encouragement. This was more than the kind-hearted Deacon Cornhill, who had regained his feet, could witness without interfering, and, dropping his gripsack on the sidewalk, in order to have his hands free, he went to the rescue of the smaller boy, exclaiming:
“Let him alone, you ragamuffin!” at the same time trying to catch the aggressive youngster by the collar. But the boy easily slipped from his grasp, and ran down the cross street, followed by his friends, the party giving utterance to peals of laughter.
Deacon Cornhill, in his great indignation, started to give them chase, but after going a few steps thought better of his foolishness, and turned back.
He was just in season to see the boy he had been defending dodging around the corner with his gripsack.