When a hundred or more eyes are levelled upon you he suddenly increases the motion in a manner that leaves no doubt in your mind that that man has magnetism about him, whether he be a “professor” or not. Of course your rheumatism at once disappears: it would do the same had you fallen from the roof of a house.
Tommy had a strong inclination to be “cured” by the “professor of galvanism,” but he conscientiously recalled Master Lewis’s advice about the purse.
A man with a wonderfully bedecked performing monkey was leaving the square, and, as a sort of testimony to the attraction of his exhibition, a crowd of boys and girls were following him. Tommy wished to see a performance that had evidently excited so much interest, and he allowed himself to be borne along after the man in the juvenile tide. After passing through several streets, the performer stopped in an open court, but for some reason was ordered away. Tommy found himself left almost alone in an antique-looking place, where there were in sight neither omnibuses nor cabs.
“Which is the way to Regent Street?” asked Tommy of a sad-looking little girl.
“Dunno,” said Sad Eyes; “’ave ye got a penny?”
“What for?”
“For tellin’ ye.”
Tommy made other inquiries, but received about as definite information as at first, and each person followed the unsatisfactory answer with, “’Ave ye a penny?” as though it was worth that trifling amount to open one’s mouth.
An honest-looking house-wife, without bonnet or shawl, came marching along the street with an air of friendly interest.
“Will you direct me to a street where I can find a hack?” asked Tommy.