A CHILD OF THE JAGO
Dicky watched from the Jago Court passage.
Business slackened for a little while, and the loafers were contemplating a raid in force on Mother Gapp's till, when a grown lad ran in pell-mell from Luck Row with a square parcel clipped under his arm—a parcel of aspect well known among the fat's a-running boys—a parcel that meant tobacco. He was collared at once.
"Stow it, Bill!" he cried, breathlessly, recognizing his captor. "The bloke's a-comin'!"
But half-a-dozen hands were on his plunder, it was snatched away, and he was flung back on the flags. There was a clatter on the stones of Luck Row, and a light van came rattling into Old Jago Street, the horse galloping, the carman lashing and shouting: "Stop 'im! Stop thief!"
The sight was so novel that for a moment the gang merely stared and grinned.
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