A CHILD OF THE JAGO
held the mats together, selected a thick one, rolled it under his arm, and edged off into shadow. Then he ran quietly across to the nearest turning.
Presently Mr. Grinder came out, hooked his finger in the string around the mats, and pulled up—nothing. He stooped and saw that the string was cut. He looked about him suspiciously, flung the mats over, and counted them. Then he stood erect; stared up the street, down the street, and across the road, with his mouth open, and made short rushes left and right into the gloom. Then he returned to the mats and scratched his head. Finally, he gave another glance about the street, picked up the mats in his arms and carried them in, counting them as he went. And, the mats bestowed, when he came forth for a fresh armful of sauce-pans, he stood and gazed doubtfully now this way, now that, about the Bethnal Green Road.
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