Part 18 (1/2)

”Just this, young man,” replied one of the policemen, ”that if you want to walk about in this part of London you had better not wear such an enticing pin in your scarf.”

Leonard put up his hand, and found that his turquoise pin was pulled half-way out of his scarf. He said angrily, ”Then why don't you take the thief in charge?” And he pointed at the sickly-looking man who stood close by.

”Because he was too quick for us. He's on the other side of the river long before this.”

”Why, there he stands!” cried Leonard, pointing again at the shabby figure.

”Begging your pardon, young sir, this is him that has saved your pin from them two thieves. You owe him many thanks, and something more substantial, in my humble opinion.”

Then Leonard understood the affair, and how the poor delicate man had prevented the smart colleagues from making off with the valuable pin given him by his late mother, and therefore very greatly precious to him. He turned to his defender with warm thanks.

The two policemen sauntered away.

”I am awfully obliged to you, I'm sure,” said Leonard. ”You don't look well.”

”No,” replied the poor man; ”I have had sickness and sorrow lately, and a little thing upsets me. I shall be better in a few minutes. You put your pin in your pocket, sir; and do not show any jewellery when you come through these shady slums.”

”I think I must have come wrong.”

”What street do you want?”

Leonard named it.

”Well, you have not come wrong exactly; but you had better have stuck to the main thoroughfares, and not have taken these short cuts, which are all very well for some of us, but not for young gents with 'turkeys' breast-pins. If you are not ashamed of my company I can take you straight to the street you've named.”

After his late escape Leonard felt suspicious of every stranger in London; but as he really had reason to feel obliged to this man, he put aside that feeling and walked on for some time with his new acquaintance.

CHAPTER XI.

A THOROUGH CHANGE.

”I am afraid,” Leonard said presently, ”that I am taking you out of your way.”

”Not at all, sir; I live in that same street. There's a good many of us live there. It is like a rabbit-warren.”

”Really!” said Leonard.

”It swarms with old and young--young ones mostly. Too many of 'em. We ought not to grieve too much when they are taken from this hard world to rest and safety. But the mothers do grieve, poor things!--and the fathers too.”

”Perhaps you have lost a child lately,” said Leonard, very gently.

”He was buried yesterday.”

They went on in silence until they turned into a street which appeared to begin much better than it ended. Leonard's guide said, ”Here we are; this is your street.”

”Oh, thank you; but don't come any further.” And Leonard began to fumble in his pocket for a half-crown.

”It is my street too,” said the poor man.

”All right then. I want No. 103.”