chief of some coarse stuff, dark blue trousers and slippers with
curled-up toes on naked feet. His eyes were black and sparkling and he
had a well-trimmed moustache which contrasted oddly with his shabby
attire. "Hokar is poor: Hokar need money," he whined in a monotone, but
with his eyes glancing restlessly round the shop. "Give Hokar--give,"
and he held out the laces.

"Don't want any, I tell you," shouted Bart, tartly. "I'll call a peeler
if you don't git."

"Ho! ho! who stole the donkey?" cried a shrill voice at the door, and
from behind the hawker was poked a touzelled curly head, and a grinning
face which sadly needed washing. "You leave this cove alone, won't y?
He's a pal o' mine. D'y see?"

"You git along with your pal then," cried Bart, indignantly. "If he
don't understand King's English, you do, Tray."

Tray darted into the middle of the shop and made a face at the indignant
shopman by putting his fingers in his mouth to widen it, and pulling
down his eyes. Hokar never smiled, but showed no disposition to move.
Bart, angered at this blocking up the doorway, and by Tray's war dance,
jumped the counter. He aimed a blow at the guttersnipe's head, but
missed it and fell full length. The next moment Tray was dancing on his
body with his tongue out derisively. Then Hokar gave a weird smile.
"Kalee!" he said to himself. "Kalee!"

How the scene would have ended it is impossible to say, but while Bart
strove to rise and overturn Tray, Aaron walked in past the Indian.
"What's this?" he asked sharply. Tray stopped his dancing on Bart's
prostrate body and gave a shrill whistle by placing two dirty fingers in
his mouth. Then he darted between Norman's legs and made off. Hokar
stood staring at the bookseller, and after a pause pointed with his
finger. "One--eye," he said calmly, "no good!"

Aaron was about to inquire what he meant by this insult, when the Indian
walked to the counter and placed something thereon, after which he moved
away, and his voice was heard dying away down the street. "Hokar is
poor--Hokar need money. Hokar, Christian."

"What's this?" demanded Norman, again assisting Bart roughly to his
feet.

"Blest if I know," replied Tawsey, staring; "they're mad, I think," and
he related the incoming of the Indian and the street arab. "As for that
Tray," said he, growling, "I'll punch his blooming 'ead when I meets him
agin, dancing on me--yah. Allays meddlin' that brat, jus' as he wos
when Mr. Beecot