Wanted--A Match Maker | Page 6

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.
Not understanding the fear in the boy's mind, Constance put her free
hand down and tried to assist him; but the instant he felt her fingers, his
tightened violently. "Youse guv it me," he wailed. "Didn't she guv it
me?" he appealed desperately to the policeman.
"I'm only trying to help put it in your pocket," explained the girl.
"Ah, chase youseself!" exclaimed the doubter, contemptuously. "Dat
don't go wid me. Nah!"
"What doesn't go?" bewilderedly questioned Miss Durant.
"Wotcher tink youse up aginst? Suttin' easy? Well, I guess not! Youse
don't get youse pickers in me pocket on dat racket."
"She ain't goin' to take none of your money!" asserted the policeman,

indignantly. "Can't you tell a real lady when you see her?"
"Den let her quit tryin' to go tru me," protested the anxious capitalist;
and Constance desisted from her misinterpreted attempt, with a laugh
which died as the little fellow, at last successful in his endeavour to
secrete the money, moaned again at the pain it cost him.
"Shall we never get there?" she demanded impatiently, and, as if an
answer were granted her, the carriage slowed, and turning, passed into
a porte-cochère, in which the shoes of the horses rang out sharply, and
halted.
"Stay quiet a bit, mum," advised the policeman, as he got out; and
Constance remained, still supporting the urchin, until two men with a
stretcher appeared, upon which they lifted the little sufferer, who
screamed with pain that even this gentlest of handling cost him.
Her heart wrung with sympathy for him, Miss Durant followed after
them into the reception-ward. At the door she hesitated, in doubt as to
whether it was right or proper for her to follow, till the sight of a nurse
reassured her, and she entered; but her boldness carried her no farther
than to stand quietly while the orderlies set down the litter. Without a
moment's delay the nurse knelt beside the boy, and with her scissors
began slitting up the sleeves of the tattered coat.
"Hey! Wotcher up to?" demanded the waif, suspiciously.
"I'm getting you ready for the doctor," said the nurse, soothingly. "It's
all right."
"Toin't nuttin' of de sort," moaned the boy. "Youse spoilin' me cloes,
an' if youse wuzn't a loidy, you'd get youse face poked in, dat's wot
would happen to youse."
Constance came forward and laid her hand on the little fellow's cheek.
"Don't mind," she said, "and I'll give you a new suit of clothes."
"Wen?" came the quick question.

"To-morrow."
"Does youse mean dat? Honest? Dere oin't no string to dis?"
"Honest," echoed the girl, heartily.
Reassured, the boy lay quietly while the nurse completed the
dismemberment of the ragged coat, the apology for a shirt, and the bit
of twine which served in lieu of suspenders. But the moment she began
on the trousers, the wail was renewed.
"Quit, I say, or I'll soak de two of youse; see if I don't. Ah, won't
youse--" The words became inarticulate howls which the prayers and
assurances of the two women could not lessen.
"Now, then, stop this noise and tell me what is the matter," ordered a
masculine voice; and turning from the boy, Constance found a tall,
strong-featured man with tired-looking eyes standing at the other side
of the litter.
Hopeful that the diversion might mean assistance, the waif's howls
once more became lingual. "Dey's tryin' to swipe me money, boss," he
whined. "Hope I may die if deys oin't."
"And where is your money?" asked the doctor.
"Wotcher want to know for?" demanded the urchin, with recurrent
suspicion in his face.
"It's in the pocket of his trousers, Dr. Armstrong," said the nurse.
Without the slightest attempt to reassure the boy, the doctor forced
loose the boy's hold on the pocket, and inserting his hand, drew out the
ten-dollar bill and a medley of small coins.
"Now," he said, "I've taken your money, so they can't. Understand?"
The urchin began