Gladys Huntress sprang up in her carriage, an angry flush surging over her pretty face.
“John, stop!” she cried, imperiously. “Stop!” she repeated, laying her gloved hand upon his arm, with a touch which he involuntarily obeyed, and, drawing his reins, his well-trained horses came to a stand close beside the group we have described.
“Boys, what are you doing? Let him alone. Aren’t you ashamed to torment a boy who is weaker than yourselves?” the young girl exclaimed, in a tone of authority and scorn which for a moment arrested their cruel sport, while they gazed open-mouthed with astonishment at the elegant equipage and its fair occupant, who had so nobly espoused the cause of their luckless victim.
But it was only for a moment.
Everybody knows what lawless creatures the street urchins of New York are, and the next instant a derisive shout rent the air at this strange and unlooked-for interference.
“Hi!” cried one, who appeared to be the leader in the fray. “Mr. Chalkface must be some prince in disguise, and ’ere comes the princess with ’er coach and span to the rescue.”
Another shout more deafening than the preceding one rent the air at this sarcastic speech, and Gladys shrank back with a look of disgust on her young face.
“Pretty little Miss Uppercrust,” the young rascal insolently resumed, encouraged by the applause around him. “I guess it’ll take more’n you and your fine feathers to squelch Nick Tower. See ’ere now, how d’ye like that?” wherewith he gave the poor boy a brutal punch in the ribs which elicited a shriek of agony from him.
Gladys’ eyes blazed wrathfully. For a moment she gazed straight into the face of the impudent urchin, her beautiful lips quivering with contempt, while every eye was fixed upon her with wonder and curiosity.
It was a new departure for a young and delicate girl to face them like that. It was their experience to have every one of the better class shrink from them in disgust, and get out of their way as soon as possible.