Before Johnnie could argue the matter further, or ask any one of the thousand questions that he would have liked to get explained regarding cowboys, the driver interrupted to demand how much farther southward he was expected to go; and as Chambers Street was even then just ahead, the eastern turn was made at once, which set Johnnie off along a new line of thought--his coming ordeal. And this ordeal was not the meeting with Big Tom, which he dreaded enough, but which he believed would not have to be endured for at least some hours; it was the having to face, in company with this rich and important acquaintance, that gang of boys who so delighted to taunt him. Anxiously his gray eyes searched ahead of the taxicab, which was 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."