“They’re all right. Don’t you work yourself up over them,” said the roundsman, heartily. “Youse didn’t let de udder newsies swipe dem, did youse?” the lad appealed anxiously. “I’ll pay you for every one you lost,” offered Constance. “How many did you have?” The ragamuffin stared at her for a moment, his face an essence of disbelief. “Ah, hell!” he ejaculated. “Wot’s dis song an’ dance youse givin’ us?” “Really, I will,” insisted the girl. She reached back of her and took her purse from the rack, and as well as she could with her one hand opened it. The sight of the bills and coin brought doubt to the sceptic. “Say,” he demanded, his eyes burning with avidity, “does youse mean dat? Dere oin’t no crawl in dis?” “No. How much were they worth?” The boy hesitated, and scanned her face, as if he were measuring the girl more than he was his loss. “Dere wuz twinty _Joinals_” he said, speaking slowly, and his eyes watching her as a cat might a mouse, “an’—an’—twinty _Woilds_—an’—an’ tirty _Telegrams_— an’—an’—” He drew a fresh breath, as if needing strength, shot an apprehensive glance at the roundsman, and went on hurriedly, in a lower voice, “an’ tirty-five _Posts_—” “Ah, g’long with you,” broke in the policeman, disgustedly. “He didn’t have mor’n twenty in all, that I know.” “Hope I may die if Ise didn’t have all dem papes, boss,” protested the boy. “You deserve to be run in, that’s what you do,” asserted the officer of the law, angrily. “Oh, don’t threaten him,” begged Miss Durant. “Don’t you be fooled by him, mum. He ain’t the kind as sells _Posts_, an’ if he was, he wouldn’t have more’n five.” “It’s de gospel trute Ise chuckin’ at youse dis time,” asserted the youngster. “Gospel Ananias—!” began the officer. “Never mind,” interrupted Miss Durant. “Would ten dollars pay for them all?” “Ah, I know’d youse wuz tryin’ to stuff me,” dejectedly exclaimed the boy; then, in an evident attempt to save his respect for his own acuteness, he added: “But youse didn’t. I seed de goime youse wuz settin’ up right from de start.” Out of the purse Constance, with some difficulty, drew a crisp ten-dollar bill, the boy watching the one-handed operation half doubtingly and half eagerly; and when it was finally achieved, at the first movement of her hand toward him, his arm shot out, and the money was snatched, more than taken. With the quick motion, however, the look of eagerness and joy changed to one of agony; he gave a sharp cry, and, despite the grime, the cheeks whitened perceptibly. “Oh, please stay quiet,” implored Miss Durant. “You mustn’t move.” “Hully gee, but dat hurted!” gasped the youngster, yet clinging to the new wealth. He lay quiet for a few breaths; then, as if he feared the sight of the bill might in time tempt a change of mind in the giver, he stole the hand to his trousers pocket and endeavoured to smuggle the money into it, his teeth set, but his lips trembling, with the pain the movement cost him.