Seth understood, however, that every boy present was agreed upon the supposed fact that a great crime had been committed, although these young merchants might, upon due reflection, come to realize how improbable was such a supposition.
When little Snip, seeming to understand that his master was in sore distress, licked the boy’s cheek, it was to Seth almost as if the dog shared in the belief of those who were so ready to accuse him, and he could restrain his feelings no longer.
Leaning against the iron column which supported the staircase, with his face buried in Snip’s silky hair, the crippled lad gave way to tears, while his companions gazed at him severely, for to their minds this show of grief was much the same as a confession of guilt.
A blue-coated guardian of the peace dispersed the throng before those composing it had had time to make audible comment upon this last evidence of an accusing conscience; but Seth was so bowed down by bewilderment, sorrow, and fear as not to know that he stood alone with Snip, while a throng of acquaintances gazed at him from the opposite side of the street.
Once the officer had passed on, and was at a respectful distance, Seth’s friends returned, and it could be understood from their manner that some definite plan of action had been decided upon during the enforced absence.
“See here, Seth, we ain’t such chumps as to jump on a feller when he’s down. If you don’t want to tell us what you’ve been doin’——”
“I haven’t done a thing, an’ you know it, Tim Chandler,” the lad moaned, speaking with difficulty because of his sobs.
“Then what’s the notice about?” Tim asked in a severe, yet friendly tone.
“I don’t know any more’n you do.”
“Where’s the lead nickel Mickey Dowd says somebody shoved on you the other day?” Teddy Dixon asked sharply.