“You needn't be scared at him, mum; that's only old Jock; he's as ugly as old Nick himself, but he knows better than to be very ugly to me. I can throw him in the gutter as easy as I could them young ones, and he knows it. That's Dirk's father, that is! Ain't he a beauty?”
And again Mrs. Roberts uttered an exclamation of dismay, and part of her terror went out in sorrow over the wrongs of a boy who had such a home and such a father. What ought to be expected of him?
That interminable alley was conquered at last, and they emerged into respectability on the broad avenue. Mrs. Roberts released her hold of her protector's arm, and his new character vanished on the instant.
“You're here, mum,” he said, with a saucy twinkle in his eye and a saucy leer on his face. “Can you get yourself home from this spot, or shall I borrow a wheelbarrow and tote you there?”
Much shaken with various emotions though she was, Mrs. Roberts forced herself to laugh. She would not frown on his fun when it was not positively sinful; he might not be aware that it was disrespectful; he might never have heard the word.
“I know the way now, thank you; at least I think I do. Can you tell me whether I take a green car or a yellow one to get to East Fifty-fifth Street?”
“You take a green one,” he said, quietly, his character of protector having returned to him with the question, which still showed her dependence on him.
“Thank you,” she said again, with great heartiness. “I shall never forget your care of me.” Her hand was in her pocket, and a bright coin was between her fingers. She longed to give it to Nimble Dick; he had saved her from so much this morning. And he was so miserably clad, surely he needed help. A moment's reflection, and she resolutely withdrew her hand. He should be paid by a simple hearty, “Thank you!” this morning, for kindness rendered. He might not consider it a current coin, but possibly it would be his first lesson in the courtesies of life.
Later in the day, when Mrs. Roberts was somewhat rested from her morning's campaign, young Ried received a little note:—
Dear Mr. Ried,—I know the names of all the boys, and inclose you a list. It is possible that you may fall in with some one during the day who can impart knowledge concerning them. Anyway, I thought you would like to know their names. Keep me posted, please, as to your success in making their acquaintance. We are allies, remember.