He was at an age when the intelligence, like the voice, has moments of adult bass, and moments when it cracks and runs up to a boyish treble; but, in many practical affairs of life, his mind had been matured by his experience on the streets; and within the limits of that experience he was as alert as a young fox. He understood that he was being kidnapped by “a bunch o’ crooks.” He knew, from the sample before him, that the men might be murderous. Yet the situation, for the instant, seemed almost amusing to him, and the men nearly ridiculous. Conceive the emotions of a street mongrel when it sees itself stolen, with infinite precautions, by a thief who expects to get a reward for returning it!
He put the letter in his pocket and went to his bedroom for his hat. He noticed himself in his glass—rather pale—and he smiled at his reflection reassuringly. Of course, Babbing had planned for all this. He had expected them to kidnap him. They would
