"Say, fella, what do you think you'll get out of it?"
"Aw, Simeon Deaves 'll give him his old clothes."
The envious note was clearly audible. Individuals in the crowd were beginning to ask themselves now, why they hadn't had the wit to take the old man's part, and earn his gratitude. Evan held himself in from reply.
"What's the use," he thought. "Scum!"
Rejoining the old man he led him to the West street corner. Deaves had had a bad shock, and he was still trembling all over, and stumbling slightly in his walk. He betrayed no consciousness of gratitude towards his rescuer. His mind was still running on the lost nickel.
"Robber! Outrage! Thieving scoundrel!" he was muttering.
They waited for a Belt line car. Another man waited alongside of them, a quiet little youth in a grey suit whom Evan had seen as an onlooker in the crowd.
When the car came the old man was still so shaky that it seemed to Evan only the part of common humanity to accompany him. But on the step Deaves turned sharply.
"You needn't come," he said. "I can take care of myself."
"That's all right," said Evan politely. "It's no inconvenience."