now
picking its way too swiftly through streets crowded with children. This
ability to invest the present with all the reality of the future, how
wonderful it could be!--but how terrible! For he was suffering greatly
in advance, and writhing on the leather-covered seat, and all but
pulling out his yellow hair.

"Arm ache y'?" One-Eye wanted to know.

"Guess so," faltered Johnnie. Then his face turned a sickly pale, and he
shouldered a bit closer to his escort. A feeling of suffocation meant
that his breath had stopped. And upon his untanned forehead oozed the
perspiration of dismay. Also, his cheeks mottled. For just before them
were two of those boys whom he feared!--as if they had sprung from a
seam in the sidewalk! They were staring at the taxicab. They were
looking at Johnnie (who stole a nervous look back). Now they were
following on!

Johnnie's jaw set; his teeth clenched. He steeled himself to bear public
insult.

Too many children had now brought the taxicab down to a crawling gait.
Slowly it rolled on through shouting, Sunday-garbed youngsters. And fast
grew the crowd which kept pace with it. But it was a silent crowd, as
Johnnie's ears told him, for his chin was on his breast and his eyes
were fixed upon the meter--in agony, as if he, and not One-Eye, would
have to pay a charge which had already mounted high in three figures.
_Why_ was that crowd silent? And what were those boys preparing to
do--two were now several--who held all things in scorn? who made even
the life of the patrolman on the beat a thing to be dreaded?

The uncertainty was crushing.

"Home in a jiffy," soothed One-Eye, who felt sure the ride had been too
much of a strain.

"Stop here," whispered Johnnie, catching sight, after a turn or two, of
one of those entrances which gave to the area.

The taxicab stopped. In a hush that actually hurt, One-Eye rose and
descended, flipping a five-dollar bill to the driver. "But don't you
go," he directed. "I'll want y' t' tote me back uptown."

Johnnie rose then--feebly. Once more he held that bandaged arm to the
front. His faltering eyes said that the injury was a plea--a plea for
courteous treatment before this distinguished stranger. Oh, he knew he
was a girlish-headed ragbag, but if they would only spare him this once!

One-Eye took his hand. "Step careful, sonny," he advised, almost
tenderly. Then to those pressing round, "Back up, won't y'? Give this
boy room? Don't y' see he's hurt?"