This done, Jim the cabman had an opportunity of renewing his acquaintance with my master.
“Well,” said he, “who’d have thought of seeing you here? And what a nice mess you’re in. You look as if—”
“Oh, don’t,” cried Charlie, holding him by the arm; “it’s bad enough as it is, without you thinking ill of me.”
And then he told him as well as he could how he had been decoyed to these vile races; how he had been kept there by main force; how he had been made senseless by their rough treatment, and how, but for Jim’s timely help, he would now have been robbed and helpless.
Jim listened in astonishment, not unmingled with many an ejaculation of indignation at the poor boy’s persecutors.
“And where are they now?” he asked, when Charlie had done.
“I don’t know. We were all thrown out, you know, among the crowd. I only hope they’ve not been killed.”
“Well, if I was you,” said the downright cabman, “I wouldn’t break my heart over them. I know I’d like to have a chance of a quiet talk with the young swells; I’d give them something to take home with them, I would.”
Charlie said nothing, but gratefully put himself under the protection of his deliverer, who, making a considerable round to avoid the crush, led him safely to Gurley.
“There’s no trap to be got for love or money, so you’ll just have to walk if you want to get back to Randlebury to-night.”