Dusty Diamonds Cut and Polished | Page 2

was prone to indulge, consciously and
unconsciously, at all times, and the tendency to which he sometimes
found it difficult to resist. He was beginning to hum the sharply-defined

air to which he was in the habit of performing this dance, when little
Diana said, in a silvery voice quite in keeping with her beauty--
"Let go his head, boy; I'm quite sure that he cannot bear restraint."
It may be remarked here that little Di was probably a good judge on
that point, being herself nearly incapable of bearing restraint.
"I'd better not, miss," replied the boy with profound respect in tone and
manner, for he had yet to be paid for the job; "he seems raither frisky,
an' might take a fancy to bolt, you know."
"Let his head go, I say!" returned Miss Diana with a flashing of the
blue eyes, and a pursing of the rosebud mouth that proved her to be one
of Adam's race after all.
"Vell, now, don't you think," rejoined the boy, in an expostulating tone,
"that it would be as veil to vait for the guv'nor before givin' 'im 'is
'ead?"
"Do as I bid you, sir!" said Di, drawing herself up like an empress.
Still the street boy held the pony's head, and it is probable that he
would have come off the victor in this controversy, had not Diana's
dignified action given to the reins which she held a jerk. The brown
pony, deeming this full permission to go on, went off with a bound that
overturned the boy, and caused the fore-wheel to strike him on the leg
as it passed.
Springing up with the intention of giving chase to the runaway, the
little fellow again fell, with a sharp cry of pain, for his leg was broken.
At the same moment Sir Richard Brandon issued from the door of his
mansion leisurely, and with an air of calm serenity, pulling on his
gloves. It was one of the knight's maxims that, under all circumstances,
a gentleman should maintain an appearance of imperturbable serenity.
When, however, he suddenly beheld the street boy falling, and his
daughter standing up in her wickerwork chariot, holding on to the

brown pony like an Amazon warrior of ancient times, his maxim
somehow evaporated. His serenity vanished. So did his hat as he
bounded from beneath it, and left it far behind in his mad and hopeless
career after the runaway.
A policeman, coming up just as Sir Richard disappeared, went to the
assistance of the street boy.
"Not much hurt, youngster," he said kindly, as he observed that the boy
was very pale, and seemed to be struggling hard to repress his feelings.
"Vell, p'raps I is an' p'raps I ain't, Bobby," replied the boy with an
unsuccessful attempt at a smile, for he felt safe to chaff or insult his foe
in the circumstances, "but vether hurt or not it vont much matter to you,
vill it?"
He fainted as he spoke, and the look of half-humorous impudence, as
well as that of pain, gave place to an expression of infantine repose.
The policeman was so struck by the unusual sight of a street boy
looking innocent and unconscious, that he stooped and raised him quite
tenderly in his arms.
"You'd better carry him in here," said Sir Richard Brandon's butler,
who had come out. "I saw it 'appen, and suspect he must be a good deal
damaged."
Sir Richard's footman backing the invitation, the boy was carried into
the house accordingly, laid on the housemaid's bed, and attended to by
the cook, while the policeman went out to look after the runaways.
"Oh! what ever shall we do?" exclaimed the cook, as the boy showed
symptoms of returning consciousness.
"Send for the doctor," suggested the housemaid.
"No," said the butler, "send for a cab, and 'ave the boy sent home. I fear
that master will blame me for givin' way to my feelin's, and won't thank

me for bringin' 'im in here. You know he is rather averse to the lower
orders. Besides, the poor boy will be better attended to at 'ome, no
doubt. I dare say you'd like to go 'ome, wouldn't you?" he said,
observing that the boy was looking at him with a rather curious
expression.
"I dessay I should, if I could," he answered, with a mingled glance of
mischief and pain, "but if you'll undertake to carry me, old cock, I'll be
'appy to go."
"I'll send you in a cab, my poor boy," returned the butler, "and git a
cabman as I'm acquainted with to take care of you."
"All right! go a'ead, ye cripples," returned the boy, as the cook
approached him with a cup of warm soup.
"Oh! ain't it prime!" he said, opening