It all took less time to accomplish than it takes to write, and once out of that awful court we could hardly tell whether we were awake or dreaming.
The boy, however, in Jack’s arms settled that question.
“Come on, quick!” said Smith, starting to run again. “They’ll be out after us.”
We hurried on until we were in Beadle Square.
“What’s to be done?” I asked.
“We must take him in with us,” said Jack. “Look at the state he’s in.”
I did look. The little fellow, who seemed about eight years old, was either stunned by his last blow or had fainted. His face, save where the blood trickled down, was deadly pale, and as his head with its shock of black hair lay back on Jack’s arm, it seemed as if he could not look in worse plight were he dead.
“We must take him with us,” said Jack.
“What will Mrs Nash say?” was my inward ejaculation, as we reached the door.
All the lights were out. We knocked twice, and no one came. Here was a plight! Locked out at this hour of night, with a half-dead child in our charge!