Looking abruptly around, the man was surprised to find the young bootblack beside him whom Deacon Cornhill had met at the outset of his troubles, and who was none other than the boy who had snatched his pocketbook away from the thief. He had found little difficulty in eluding his pursuers. “’Twon’t do any good to get a mob here. I’ll look arter the old gent, if you’ll help me get him to Brattle’s.” “This you, Little Hickory?” “I reckon, Jim. Does the old gent show any signs of picking up the leetle sense he had?” and depositing his kit of tools, with the other’s gripsack, on the sidewalk, he looked closely into his face. “’Twas a hard clip the sandbagger give him! I could not have got here---- Hello! He’s starting his breathing machine. He’s soon going to be on his feet. So’ll the mob soon begin to corner here. Lend a hand, Jim, and we’ll see if he can stand alone.” Curious spectators were beginning to gather near at hand, and the unfortunate man beginning to open his eyes, his friends raised him to an upright position, where, by their aid, he was able to remain. “Mandy, where are you?” he asked, putting out his hands. “I vum, I b’lieve I’m lost!” “Lean on me, old gent,” said the boy, “and you’ll soon be where you can ask as many questions as ye like. Just now, the least said the sooner forgot. I wouldn’t ’vise you to call all New York together. Ef I’d got sich a biff on my head in sich a silly way, I’d hold my tongue, if I had to tie a knot in it. Easy on his collar, Jim. Lean on me, old gent, as much as you wanter.” “My money!” exclaimed the bewildered man, now recalling his loss with a vivid memory. “Ef it’s in your wallet, it’s safe; fer I’ve got that and yer handbag safe and sound.” Deacon Cornhill uttered a low thanksgiving, and assisted by the two he moved slowly down the street, until they came to a cheap lodging house, with the single word over the weather-beaten door: “Brattle.” The entrance was about half its size below the sidewalk, and they descended the old steps, which trembled beneath the weight of Deacon Cornhill. At the foot Little Hickory opened a door in keeping with its rusty surroundings, and the three entered a dingy, low-walled apartment, with a desk at the farther end and a row of seats around the walls. “You can go now, Jim,” said the young bootblack. “That you, Rob?” asked a man behind the desk, leaving his high stool and coming out into the middle of the floor. “I leave it with you, Brattle, to say. A body, as far as I know, is not expected to carry an introduce card pasted in his collar. I can take care of the old gent, thank you.” “Been drinking, eh?” asked Brattle. “Now you insult a good man, Brattle. He got a clip on the side of the head from some sandbaggers, that’s all. He’s coming ’round slick as a button. You can tip over on the seat, old gent, if you wanter,” when Deacon Cornhill sank upon the bench, saying: “You said you had my money?”