eet
reeled, the organ seemed to be grinding in my own head, and yet I found
that it was not playing at all, for there was Tony with it on his back,
looking anxiously into my face, and firing a volley of invective after the
big boy, who was retreating with his mates.

I looked up at the owner of the hand which still held my collar. He was a
very thin young man with a pale face and quiet grey eyes.

Tony began to offer incoherent explanations.

"But who are they?" demanded the young man, "they don't seem to belong to
this street."

"No, no, no," reiterated Tony, "dey are little fr-riends of mine--dey come
for a walk with me. Oh, I shall get into some trouble for dis, I tink! It
was all dose damn boys dat bully heem, an' when I would run to help, dere
was my Anita lef' on da organ, an' I mus' not lose her!"

"It's all right," I explained to the young man, "we were just spending the
afternoon with Tony, and it wasn't his fault we got to fighting, and--and
did I do very badly please? Did you notice whether I pawed or not?"

"By George!" said the young man, "you made the claret flow!"

"It took two of them to hold me or I'd have got back at him," said Angel.

"It took fwee o' them to hold _me_," piped The Seraph, "or I'd have punched
evwybody!"

"How did it start?" enquired the young man.

"That biggest one asked me my name," replied Angel, "and before I thought
I'd said, 'Angel,' and that started them. Of course my real name is David,
but I forgot for the moment."

"Pet names _are_ a nuisance sometimes," said the young man, smiling, "I had
one once. It was John Peel. But no one calls me that now."

"I will tak' dem home now," interrupted Tony. "Come," taking The Seraph's
hand, "dere will be no more running da street for you little boys!"

"I'll walk along, too," said the young man, "I've nothing else to do."

I strode along at his side greatly elated. I was as hot as fire, and some
of the gamin's blood was still on my hand. I cherished it secretly.

Although the young man had quiet, even sad, eyes, it turned out that he was
wonderfully interesting. He had travelled considerably, and had even
visited South America, yet he could not have been an engineer like father,
building railroads, for he looked very poor.

I was sorry when we reached Mrs. Handsomebody's front door.

"Good-bye," he said, holding out his hand.

But a happy thought struck me. I told him about Mary Ellen's party. "And,"
I hurried on, "the