It became too much for him at last, however, and he drew himself
into the shelter of a warehouse door, and crouched down in a corner,
crying, with clasped hands, and sobbing voice, "Oh! Lord Jesus Christ!
Lord Jesus Christ!"
After uttering this cry Tony lay there for some minutes, his eyes growing
glazed and his ears dull, when a footstep came briskly up the street, and
some one, whom he could not now see for the strange dimness of his
sight, stopped opposite to him, and then stooped to touch him on the arm.
"Why," said a voice he seemed to know, "you're my young friend of the
crossing,--my little fourpenny-bit, I call you. What brings you sitting
here this cold night?"
"I've fell down and hurt myself," answered Tony, faintly.
"Where?" asked the stranger.
"My leg," he answered.
The gentleman stooped down yet lower, and passed his hand gently along
Tony's leg till he came to the place where his touch gave him the most
acute pain.
"Broken!" he said to himself. "My boy, where's your home?"
"I haven't got any right home," answered Tony, more faintly than before.
He felt a strange numbness creeping over him, and his lips were too
parched and his tongue too heavy for speaking.
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