Strange to say the old lady was not hurt in the least—only a good deal shaken and very indignant.
Stranger still, a policeman suddenly appeared in the distance. At the same time a sweep, a postman, and a servant girl joined the group.
Young Barret, as we have said, was sensitive. To become the object and centre of a crowd in such circumstances was overwhelming. A climax was put to his confusion, when one of the street arabs, observing the policeman, suddenly exclaimed:—
“Oh! I say, ’ere’s a bobby! What a lark. Won’t you be ’ad up before the beaks? It’ll be a case o’ murder.”
“No, it won’t,” retorted the other boy; “it’ll be a case o’ manslaughter an’ attempted suicide jined.”
Barret started up, allowing the servant maid to take his place, and saw the approaching constable. Visions of detention, publicity, trial, conviction, condemnation, swam before him.
“A reg’lar Krismas panty-mime for nuffin’!” remarked the ragged girl, breaking silence for the first time.
Scarcely knowing what he did, Barret leaped towards his bicycle, set it up, vaulted into the saddle, as he well knew how, and was safely out of sight in a few seconds.
Yet not altogether safe. A guilty conscience pursued, overtook, and sat upon him. Shame and confusion overwhelmed him. Up to that date he had been honourable, upright, straightforward; as far as the world’s estimation went, irreproachable. Now, in his own estimation, he was mean, false, underhand, sneaking!
But he did not give way to despair. He was a true hero, else we would not have had anything to write about him. Suddenly he slowed, frowned, compressed his lips, described a complete circle—in spite of a furniture van that came in his way—and deliberately went back to the spot where the accident had occurred; but there was no little lady to be seen. She had been conveyed away, the policeman was gone, the little boys were gone, the ragged girl, sweep, postman, and servant maid—all were gone, “like the baseless fabric of a vision,” leaving only new faces and strangers behind to wonder what accident and thin old lady the excited youth was asking about—so evanescent are the incidents that occur; and so busily pre-occupied are the human torrents that rush in the streets of London!