"Get back, you cowards! Give the old man a chance!"

The passionately indignant voice was more effective than the blows
against so many. The crowd drew back shamefacedly, revealing the old
man prone on the sidewalk, but not visibly injured. He was able to
scramble to his hands and knees as soon as they gave him room. Evan
helped him to his feet.

"Come on, I'll get you out of this," he said peremptorily. With his
flashing eyes he searched the faces of the crowd for eyes that dared to
withstand his, but none cared to.

He started to march the dazed old man smartly towards West street. It
was an uncomfortable moment when they were obliged to turn their backs
on the crowd. Evan expected another rush. But it did not come.

They had not taken ten steps when the old man pulled back. "M-my
bundle," he stammered. "I've lost my bundle."

Evan could not tell what the crowd might do. There was of course no
policeman to be expected in that forgotten little street. "Let your
bundle go!" he warned him. "Come on."

But the old man planted himself like a child with immovable obstinacy.
"My old clothes!" he said. "They're worth money! I'm not going to
give them up!"

Evan with an exasperated laugh went back. The crowd which had started
to follow backed off. The bundle lay where the old man had fallen. It
had come unwrapped and the deplorable garments were fully revealed.
Evan, gritting his teeth, stooped over and rolled them up. He knew
what a chance he was providing to the wits of the crowd.

"Old clo'! Old clo'!"

"Rags, bones, bottles! Any rags, bones, bottles!"

"Say, fella, what do you think you'll get out of it?"

"Aw, Simeon Deaves 'll give him his old clothes."

The envious note was clearly audible. Individuals in the crowd were
beginning to ask themselves now, why they hadn't had the wit to take
the old man's part, and earn his gratitude. Evan held himself in from
reply.

"What's the use," he thought. "Scum!"

Rejoining the old man he led him to the West street corner. Deaves had
had a bad shock, and he was still trembling all over, and stumbling
slightly in his walk. He betrayed no consciousness of gratitude
towards his rescuer. His mind was still running on the lost nickel.

"Robber! Outrage! Thieving scoundrel!" he was muttering.

They waited for a Belt line car. Another man waited alongside of them,
a quiet little youth in a grey suit whom Evan had seen as an onlooker
in