Dusty Diamonds Cut and Polished | Page 4

tremendous accident is often much less damaging to the person who
experiences it than a slight one. In little Diana's case, the extremes had
met, and the result was absolute safety. She was shot out of her basket
carriage after the manner of a sky-rocket, but the impulse was so
effective that, instead of causing her to fall on her head and break her
pretty little neck, it made her perform a complete somersault, and alight
upon her feet. Moreover, the spot on which she alighted was opportune,
as well as admirably suited to the circumstances.
At the moment, ignorant of what was about to happen, police-constable

Number 666--we are not quite sure of what division--in all the
plenitude of power, and blue, and six-feet-two, approached the end of a
street entering at right angles to the one down which our little heroine
had flown. He was a superb specimen of humanity, this constable, with
a chest and shoulders like Hercules, and the figure of Apollo. He turned
the corner just as the child had completed her somersault, and received
her two little feet fairly in the centre of his broad breast, driving him
flat on his back more effectively than could have been done by the best
prize-fighter in England!
Number 666 proved a most effectual buffer, for Di, after planting her
blow on his chest, sat plump down on his stomach, off which she
sprang in an agony of consternation, exclaiming--
"Oh! I have killed him! I've killed him!" and burst into tears.
"No, my little lady," said Number 666, as he rose with one or two
coughs and replaced his helmet, "you've not quite done for me, though
you've come nearer the mark than any man has ever yet accomplished.
Come, now, what can I do for you? You're not hurt, I hope?"
This sally was received with a laugh, almost amounting to a cheer, by
the half-horrified crowd which had quickly assembled to witness, as it
expected, a fatal accident.
"Hurt? oh! no, I'm not hurt," exclaimed Di, while tears still converted
her eyes into blue lakelets as she looked anxiously up in the face of
Number 666; "but I'm quite sure you must be hurt--awfully. I'm so
sorry! Indeed I am, for I didn't mean to knock you down."
This also was received by the crowd with a hearty laugh, while Number
666 sought to comfort the child by earnestly assuring her that he was
not hurt in the least--only a little stunned at first, but that was quite
gone.
"Wot does she mean by knockin' of 'im down?" asked a small butcher's
boy, who had come on the scene just too late, of a small baker's boy
who had, happily, been there from the beginning.

"She means wot she says," replied the small baker's boy with the
dignified reticence of superior knowledge, "she knocked the constable
down."
"Wot! a leetle gurl knock a six-foot bobby down?--walk-er!"
"Very good; you've no call to b'lieve it unless you like," replied the
baker's boy, with a look of pity at the unbelieving butcher, "but she did
it, though--an' that's six month with 'ard labour, if it ain't five year."
At this point the crowd opened up to let a maniac enter. He was
breathless, hatless, moist, and frantic.
"My child! my darling! my dear Di!" he gasped.
"Papa!" responded Diana, with a little scream, and, leaping into his
arms, grasped him in a genuine hug.
"Oh! I say," whispered the small butcher, "it's a melly-drammy--all for
nuffin!"
"My!" responded the small baker, with a solemn look, "won't the Lord
left-tenant be down on 'em for play-actin' without a licence, just!"
"Is the pony killed?" inquired Sir Richard, recovering himself.
"Not in the least, sir. 'Ere 'e is, sir; all alive an' kickin'," answered the
small butcher, delighted to have the chance of making himself
offensively useful, "but the hinsurance offices wouldn't 'ave the
clo'se-baskit at no price. Shall I order up the remains of your carriage,
sir?"
"Oh! I'm so glad he's not dead," said Diana, looking hastily up, "but
this policeman was nearly killed, and I did it! He saved my life, papa."
A chorus of voices here explained to Sir Richard how Number 666 had
come up in the nick of time to receive the flying child upon his bosom.
"I am deeply grateful to you," said the knight, turning to the constable,

and extending his hand, which the latter shook modestly while
disclaiming any merit for having merely performed his duty--he might
say, involuntarily.
"Will you come to my house?" said Sir Richard. "Here is my card. I
should like to see you again, and pray, see that some one looks after my
pony and--"
"And the remains," suggested the small butcher, seeing that Sir Richard
hesitated.