William Jordan, Junior

by J. C. Snaith

An obese and bald-headed man, with superb side-whiskers, who wore a white waistcoat and very bright boots, came forward. His air was a singular admixture of authority and deference. The woman who had lost her purse was now rating the fatter of the two police constables at the top of her voice. The man in the white waistcoat appeared to develop a cough as he stood listening. Once or twice he glanced round at the onlookers, yet affected that he had not done so.

In the meantime the only person on the huge premises who did not seem to be ministering to this spectacle was the little girl with the golden curls. She had strayed away behind one of the counters farther up the room, and was engaged in ransacking several boxes of dolls. Those which particularly appealed to her fancy she stuffed in the pockets of her coat.

After a good deal of argument between the woman who had lost her purse and the more amply nourished of the two police constables, in the course of which the woman said some extremely rude things in an extremely loud voice, all of which were received with much deference, especially by those to whom they were not addressed, she called to the little girl. Cramming another doll in her pocket that fairy-like creature ran to her mother just as that person, somewhat hoarse and red in the face, led the way down-stairs accompanied by the tall man and the manager, each of whom, for a quarter of an hour past, had been issuing somewhat irrelevant instructions to the woman in black and other subordinates.

Behind these three Olympian figures, yet at an effective interval, came the scarcely less Olympian figures of the two official representatives of law and order, whose portliness of aspect, dignity of bearing, and magnificent self-possession were enhanced by the fact that a frail, bewildered and anæmic-looking boy was in their concentrated clutch. A somewhat incongruous but profoundly impressed assemblage brought up the rear of the procession.

A hansom cab and a four-wheeler were drawn up in readiness at the side of the kerb opposite the doors of the shop. Quite a crowd was besieging the pavement, although perfect order was maintained by a small but diligent posse of police constables of the X division. When the owner of the purse emerged from the precincts of the shop each constable saluted with military precision, and then proceeded to hustle stray members of the multitude away from the door. As the woman and the little girl entered the hansom with the aid of the tall man and the man in the white waistcoat, and with the further aid of two police officers, some of the bystanders removed their hats.

The woman seemed to be a little exhilarated by the proportions attained by the crowd, and also by the respectful warmth of her reception. She stood up in the hansom and addressed the crowd as though it had been a public meeting.

“I hold you entirely responsible for the loss of my purse,” she said, looking all around her as if to include one and all in this indictment. “I refuse to pay any charges. Lord Pomeroy will be indignant.”

The travellers outside a passing omnibus stood up to listen, and as the hansom drove off with the woman and the little girl to the nearest police station, a man, wearing a “wide-awake” hat and a white tie, called out from the roof of the bus, “Three cheers for Lord Pomeroy!”

They were given heartily.

The more amply nourished of the two police constables then entered the four-wheeled cab. The boy was thrust in after him. The second police constable followed. A third police constable, whose dignity and ample nourishment, assisted by stripes on the arm, seemed even to transcend those of his brethren in the interior, hoisted himself with difficulty on the driver’s box, which groaned beneath his weight. As the vehicle moved off slowly, some of the bystanders also groaned.