The boy lay half-stunned with his fall, his face covered with mud, but to Reginald’s delight he was able to move and with a little help stand on his feet. As he did so the light from the lamp of the cab fell on his face, and caused Reginald to utter an exclamation of surprise and horror.
“Young Gedge!”
The boy looked at him for a moment in a stupid bewildered way, and then gave a short startled cry.
“Are you hurt?” said Reginald, putting his arm round him.
“No—I—I don’t think—let’s get away.”
Reginald called to the crowd to stand back and let them out, an order which the crowd obeyed surlily and with a disappointed grunt. Not even a broken leg! not even the cabman’s number taken down! One or two who had seen the accident patted Reginald on the back as he went by, but he hurried past them as quickly as he could, and presently stood in the seclusion of a by-street, still supporting his companion on his arm.
“Are you hurt?” he inquired again.
“No,” said Gedge; “I can walk.”
The two stood facing one another for a moment in silence, breathless still, and trembling with the excitement of the last few minutes.
“Oh, Cruden!” cried the boy at last, seizing Reginald’s arm, “what will you think of me? I was—I—I’d been drinking—I’m sober now, but—”