He was neatly but plainly clad, though his garments had become somewhat disarranged by the rude handling of his tormentors, and he was making ineffectual efforts to recover a very good-looking straw hat that had been snatched from his head and was being ruthlessly tossed about by the vicious gamins, who were triumphing in his distress with a sort of fiendish joy. “John, what are they doing to that poor boy?” Gladys asked, leaning forward, and speaking to the coachman. “They’re a set of imps, miss, and as usual up to some of their infernal tricks,” replied the man. “It looks to me as if the lad is half-foolish, and they’re making game of him.” “It is a shame,” cried the little lady, flushing indignantly. “See what a nice-looking boy he is—so different from those coarse, rude children. Stop John, and let us help him to get away from them.” “Indeed miss, I can’t: it wouldn’t be at all proper,” returned the dignified driver. “It’s the business of the police to look after such cases, not for a young lady in your position.” At this instant a mischievous ragamuffin seized the strange lad by the hair, giving it such a savage pull that he cried out with fright and pain, while a shout of mocking delight rang out from the motley crew about him. Gladys Huntress sprang up in her carriage, an angry flush surging over her pretty face. “John, stop!” she cried, imperiously. “Stop!” she repeated, laying her gloved hand upon his arm, with a touch which he involuntarily obeyed, and, drawing his reins, his well-trained horses came to a stand close beside the group we have described. “Boys, what are you doing? Let him alone. Aren’t you ashamed to torment a boy who is weaker than yourselves?” the young girl exclaimed, in a tone of authority and scorn which for a moment arrested their cruel sport, while they gazed open-mouthed with astonishment at the elegant equipage and its fair occupant, who had so nobly espoused the cause of their luckless victim. But it was only for a moment. Everybody knows what lawless creatures the street urchins of New York are, and the next instant a derisive shout rent the air at this strange and unlooked-for interference. “Hi!” cried one, who appeared to be the leader in the fray. “Mr. Chalkface must be some prince in disguise, and ’ere comes the princess with ’er coach and span to the rescue.” Another shout more deafening than the preceding one rent the air at this sarcastic speech, and Gladys shrank back with a look of disgust on her young face. “Pretty little Miss Uppercrust,” the young rascal insolently resumed, encouraged by the applause around him. “I guess it’ll take more’n you and your fine feathers to squelch Nick Tower. See ’ere now, how d’ye like that?” wherewith he gave the poor boy a brutal punch in the ribs which elicited a shriek of agony from him.