Part 3 (1/2)

How long he had slept he knew not; but he was awakened by a violent shaking and by terrible oaths. The side-door leading into the yard was open, and three or four wretched-looking women were scolding and swearing angrily about him. He was confused, bewildered, but soon perceived that something unusual had happened; and he became very much frightened as he at last learned the truth from the excited women.

Bill Seegor was gone. He had got up quietly when all were asleep, and, drawing the woman's trunk from under her bed, had carried it out into the yard, pried open the lock, stolen the money, and escaped.

The woman was in a terrible pa.s.sion, and her raving curses were fearful to hear. Rodney pitied her, though she cursed him. He was indignant at his companion's rascality, and offered to go with her and try to find him. It was two o'clock in the morning. He looked round for his hat, collar, and handkerchief; but they were gone.

The thief had taken them with him. Taking Bill's old hat, he went out with the woman, and looked into the oyster-cellars and grog-shops, some of which they found still open; but they could find no trace of Bill Seegor.

The woman met a watchman, and made inquiries, and told him of the robbery.

”And this boy came with the man last night, did he?” inquired the watchman.

”He did,” said the woman.

”Do you know the boy?”

”I never saw him before.”

”Well, I guess he knows where he is, or where he can be found to-morrow.”

Rodney protested that he knew nothing about him, that his own hat, collar, and handkerchief had been stolen, and that he had had nothing to do with the robbery. He even told him where he had met with Bill, and how he came to be in his company.

”All very fine, my lad,” said the watchman; ”but you must go with me. This must be examined into to-morrow.”

And he took Rodney by the arm, and led him to the watch-house.

CHAPTER VII.

THE WATCH-HOUSE.

For poor Rodney there was no more sleep that night, even had they placed him on a bed of roses. But they locked him up in a little square room, with an iron-barred window, into which a dim light struggled from a lamp hung outside in the entry, showing a wooden bench, fastened against the wall. There were four men in the room.

One, whose clothes looked fine and fas.h.i.+onable, but all covered with dirt, lay on the floor. A hat, that seemed new, but crushed out of all shape, was under his head for a pillow. His face was bruised and b.l.o.o.d.y. He was entirely stupefied, and Rodney saw at a glance that he was intoxicated.

On the bench, stretched out at full length, was a short, stout negro, fast asleep. On another part of the bench lay a white man, who seemed about fifty years old, with a sneering, malicious face, and wrapped up in a s.h.a.ggy black coat. The remaining occupant of the cell sat in one corner, with his head down on his knees, and his hat slouched over his face.

Rodney stood for a few moments in the middle of the cell, and, in sickening dismay, looked round him. Here he was with felons and rioters, locked up in a dungeon! True, he had committed no crime against the law; but yet he felt that he deserved it all; and the hot tears rolled from his eyes as he thought of his mother and his home.

Hearing his sobs, the man in the corner raised his head, looked at him for a moment, and said:

”Why, you blubbering boy, what have you been about? Are you the pal of these cracksmen, or have you been on a lay on your own hook?”

Rodney did not know what he meant, and he said so.

”I mean,” said the man, in the same low, thieves' jargon, ”have you been helping these fellows crack a crib?”

”Doing what?” said Rodney.