The fellow did not answer; neither did the big man; and Maynard had tumbled into a seat without a word. Dot had already picked up her doll; it was not hurt. The car started and rolled away.
“The mean thing!” exclaimed Neale. “Don’t cry, Dot.”
“I—I’m not going to,” sobbed the smallest Corner House girl. “I don’t b’lieve they’ll be kind to that man. He’s awful sick.”
“Who is?” asked Neale quickly, exchanging glances with Agnes.
“That man they took away. I got him a drink of water. But Sammy Pinkney told a story ’bout him.”
“What did Sammy say?” asked Agnes, but her attention scarcely on what Dot was saying.
The little girl told her. “But he was sick. I know it. I got him a drink of water. He wasn’t carrying a brick at all.”
Neale had grinned faintly; but his face was quickly sober again.
“I know who that Mr. Maynard is,” he said. “He used to work in the court house. I believe he was in Mr. Collinger’s office—and he was a real nice man once.”
“Why, he is now,” cried Dot, listening with very sharp ears. “Only he is sick.”