“What do you mean by coming into this shop?” said the tall man, turning to the boy very roughly.
“I—I—I d-don’t think I know, sir,” the boy stammered in a voice that was not audible.
The woman with the little girl rose from her chair suddenly.
“Why, where is my purse!” she cried in a tone of angry surprise.
A great outcry seemed to arise all at once. Excited street-persons sprang into being on this side and that. They emerged from behind curtains, doorways and recesses; they came pressing forward until they formed a circle of startled faces around the boy. One and all seemed to be staring with incredulous dismay at an object in their midst.
When the boy had recovered a little from the shock of being addressed in a public manner by street-persons, he began to look about him with a sense of bewilderment, which, however, was quite impersonal. He appeared to be standing in the centre of some strange incident, yet seek as he might he could not discern its nature. The buzz of eager tongues all around seemed to be discussing, that is as far as he could apprehend the queer language that they spoke, some remarkable creature who in sober verity did not appear to be present at all.
“How shocking it is to see crime stamped on such a young face!” he could distinguish as the indignantly spoken words of the street-woman who had lost her purse.
“I do hope the police won’t be long,” said one of the women in black.
“You are sure, Miss Sharp, you saw no confederates?” he heard the tall man say.
“There were no confederates,” said an angular woman with great impressiveness.