ing about the carriage, all of them talking and
swearing at once, and gesticulating wildly with their whips.

They said they knew the cab was McGovern's, and they wanted to know
where he was, and why he wasn't on it; they wanted to know where
Gallegher had stolen it, and why he had been such a fool as to drive it
into the arms of its owner's friends; they said that it was about time
that a cab-driver could get off his box to take a drink without having
his cab run away with, and some of them called loudly for a policeman to
take the young thief in charge.

Gallagher felt as if he had been suddenly dragged into consciousness out
of a bad dream, and stood for a second like a half-awakened
somnambulist.

They had stopped the cab under an electric light, and its glare shone
coldly down upon the trampled snow and the faces of the men around him.

Gallegher bent forward, and lashed savagely at the horse with his whip.

"Let me go," he shouted, as he tugged impotently at the reins. "Let me
go, I tell you. I haven't stole no cab, and you've got no right to stop
me. I only want to take it to the _Press_ office," he begged.
"They'll send it back to you all right. They'll pay you for the trip.
I'm not running away with it. The driver's got the collar--he's
'rested--and I'm only a-going to the _Press_ office. Do you hear
me?" he cried, his voice rising and breaking in a shriek of passion and
disappointment. "I tell you to let go those reins. Let me go, or I'll
kill you. Do you hear me? I'll kill you." And leaning forward, the boy
struck savagely with his long whip at the faces of the men about the
horse's head.

Some one in the crowd reached up and caught him by the ankles, and with
a quick jerk pulled him off the box, and threw him on to the street. But
he was up on his knees in a moment, and caught at the man's hand.

"Don't let them stop me, mister," he cried, "please let me go. I didn't
steal the cab, sir. S'help me, I didn't. I'm telling you the truth. Take
me to the _Press_ office, and they'll prove it to you. They'll pay
you anything you ask 'em. It's only such a little ways now, and I've
come so far, sir. Please don't let them stop me," he sobbed, clasping
the man about the knees. "For Heaven's sake, mister, let me go!"

* * * * *

The managing editor of the _Press_ took up the india-rubber
speaking-tube at his side, and answered, "Not yet," to an inquiry the
night editor