He had got in front of one of the theatres in the midst of a crowd more noisy than usual, the pavement encumbered with poor and squalid spectators, with men shrieking their wares to sell, and pushing books of words into the carriage windows, the confusion of cabs and carriages greater than ever, when John was suddenly roused out of all this phantasmagoria to something real. As he stood gazing, his eyes suddenly fell upon a group at the entrance of the theatre, a man with a tall, shiny hat, and coat buttoned up to his throat, with a woman somewhat fantastically but poorly dressed, on his arm. They were standing to see the people get out of their carriages, with looks somewhat wistful, as if envious of the pleasure the others were about to enjoy. The man, who was tall, inspected the ladies with a smile half patronising, half satirical. But the wife looked pathetically, wistfully, with an envy which was not bitter, nor bore any trace of unkindness. They were standing close together, rapt in that sight. At the woman’s feet was a child, holding fast by her skirts. While the parents gazed, something caught the eye of the little girl, a flower which somebody had dropped out of the window of a carriage. The little thing made one spring, while the absorbed attention of her parents was fixed upon the play-goers, and secured the prize out of the mud of the street, but not before the prancing horse of a hansom, drawn back suddenly upon its haunches, was dashing its hoofs into the air over her head. There was a universal shriek and commotion, in the midst of which the mother put down her hand instinctively but tranquilly to grasp the child. Then, finding it absent, she gave a wild cry, and turned round with arms wildly waving, facing the crowd. John took no time to think. He was the nearest, or thought himself so, and he was pushed forward by the shrieking crowd. He flung himself on the child, caught it, tossed it back to some one, he could not tell whom—but fell forward with the impetus. He felt a sharp touch on his head like a knife, and then no more—till he came to himself with the sensation of a crowd round him, and of cool applications applied to his head, which seemed to burn under the hands of some one who was leaning over him.
‘It will be nothing, it will be nothing,’ he heard some one say; and then, ‘A wonderful escape,’ ‘It might have killed him,’ in different tones. It seemed to John at first to be but another scene in that bewildering phantasmagoria through which he had been walking. When he opened his eyes he found that he was in an apothecary’s shop, which was crowded with people, faces everywhere filling up the window outside, piled one upon another. Close to him stood the man in the tall and very shiny hat. John caught in it the reflection of the great blue and red bottles in the window, and burst into a feeble laugh.
‘Gently, gently, you’re all right: but there’s nothing to laugh about,’ some one said.
‘Where am I?’ said John, still fascinated by the reflection.
‘Me dear young gentleman, ye have done a heroic action. Ye’ve behaved like a hero. Ye’ve saved me child,’ said the man in the hat.
‘Now stand back. Let him have plenty of air. Try if you can stand,’ said another voice.
John stood up, but felt faint and giddy. It seemed ridiculous in a few minutes to change from the robust village youth who feared nothing to a creature whose head seemed to swim independent of him, and who could not steady himself. He caught at the arm of the tall man to support himself.
‘That’s right, that’s right, me noble boy. I’ll take him home with me. The child is unhurt, me young hero. She’s waiting out o’ doors with her mother, who’s longing to embrace ye and bless ye. Come, it’s but a step to me humble door.’
John was not quite clear about this address, but he was glad of the tall man’s arm, on which he could lean, and allowed himself to be led away in a dazed condition through the crowd, followed by the woman and the child, who was still crying with fright and excitement. The mother, happily, neither embraced nor blessed him, but he was so dazed that he scarcely knew what happened, except that she looked at him anxiously, with troubled eyes. He was glad of the support of the man, who guided him very kindly for a little way through the crowded street, then suddenly turned down a quiet one. Here the waft of a purer, colder air upon John’s face brought him to himself, and he would have drawn his arm from that of his guide.
‘I can go now,’ he said, ‘thank you. I’m myself, now——’