le were
streaming home from work, were out marketing, looking for something
cheap for tea or supper to be bought off the barrows which were
flanking the kerbstones. Side by side, we got jostled occasionally, the
pavement being narrow and the people thickish, and twice I caught
surreptitiously at the hem of his garment when I thought that we were
going to be separated. And, as usual, there was not a policeman on the
beat anywhere--no sign of official force--nothing but men and women,
boys and girls, the boys terribly in the way, and after the girls!

"Do you call this a few doors off?" said Youson, snappishly, at last.

"Comparatively--oh, yes."

"It looks like half-a-mile," he grumbled.

"Another minute or two, Mr. Youson. I am sorry you are so pressed for
time."

"So am I. Not but what I have had about enough of your company, with
that ridiculous hat of yours over your eyes," he added, ungraciously. "I
wish I had never come near your infernal shop. You are about the slowest
tradesman I have ever encountered."

"It does not pay to be too fast in my line of business."

"Oh, I don't blame you, I don't blame you, sir; I only say I
wish----what are you jumping at? Ain't you well? Are you subject to
anything?" he asked. "Spasms or twitches?"

I had seen a policeman on the other side of the way, standing under the
shop-blind of a cheesemonger's shop, talking to the young man with the
apron who was in charge, grinning from ear to ear with him, and grossly
neglecting his duty, which was to keep a sharp look out at what was
going on up and down the street.

"Where are you off to now?" asked Mr. Youson.

"Bender's is over the way."

"What, the butterman's?"

"No, no, but just by there. Come along. Mind this horse and cart; I
should not like you to get run over with _that_ in your pocket," I said,
almost incoherently.

Mr. Youson gave a short double-knock sort of a laugh.

"What, you are getting anxious about the clock, after all?"

"I am indeed."

We had reached the other side of the way, and the policeman had turned
his back upon us--just like him!--and was staring straight into the
shop. There was a row of egg-boxes full of eggs of all sizes and prices
and ages in front of the premises. Suddenly, I sprang like a panther
upon my prey, flung my arms round Youson's neck, and yelled, at the top
of my lungs, for "Help!" and for the "Police!"

"Damn--confound it, sir--what!"--gurgled forth Youson, in his supreme