"I see 'is 'and in that lydy's pocket," said the conductor, pointing over the constable's shoulder at the woman with the baby. "You feel in your pocket, lydy."
Then ensued a general searching of pockets, while a rival omnibus swept by triumphantly and gathered up such passengers as were too impatient to await the outcome of the situation.
I leaned forward and said in an undertone to the girl with the portfolio, who alone of the passengers shewed no interest in the contents of her pocket, "You had better look in your pocket, I feel convinced it was picked while you were asleep upon his shoulder."
"'I GIVE THIS MAN IN CHARGE FOR PICKING POCKETS.'"
"I wasn't," she said, abruptly. Then, reflecting apparently that she was rude as well as tired, she added, "I've nothing worth stealing, thank you all the same."
In a desultory way she began fumbling in the pocket of her dress. The old gentleman stood by the policeman. His face had grown very red; his eyes, wandering from one passenger to another, became suddenly fixed, and his face was redder than ever. It was sufficiently obvious that he was very uneasy. Following the direction of his eyes, I saw the baby's head hanging at an alarming angle over the woman's arm. The mother was leaning towards the light and looking at the contents of her free hand—a bus ticket, two pennies, a farthing, and a sovereign.
"Now, then! lost anything, mem?" asked the conductor.
"No, I ain't lost nothing," she began, slowly.
The old gentleman nodded to her pleasantly.