to and fro, and Tommy, with a wild exultation in his breast, peered up
at the face of this one and that; but no, they were only ordinary
people, and he played rub-a-dub with his feet on the pavement, so
furious was he with them for moving on as if nothing had happened. Draw
up, ye carters; pedestrians, stand still; London, silence for a moment,
and let Tommy Sandys listen!

Being but a frail plant in the way of a flood, Tommy was rooted up and
borne onward, but he did not feel the buffeting. In a passion of grief
he dug his fists in his eyes, for the glory had been his for but a
moment. It can be compared to nothing save the parcel (attached to a
concealed string) which Shovel and he once placed on the stair for Billy
Hankey to find, and then whipped away from him just as he had got it
under his arm. But so near the crying, Tommy did not cry, for even while
the tears were rushing to his aid he tripped on the step of a shop, and
immediately, as if that had rung the magic bell again, a voice, a
woman's voice this time, said shrilly, "Threepence ha'penny, and them
jimply as big as a bantam's! Na, na, but I'll gi'e you five bawbees."

Tommy sat down flop on the step, feeling queer in the head. Was it--was
it--was it Thrums? He knew he had been running a long time.

The woman, or fairy, or whatever you choose to call her, came out of
the shop and had to push Tommy aside to get past. Oh, what a sweet foot
to be kicked by. At the time, he thought she was dressed not unlike the
women of his own stair, but this defect in his vision he mended
afterward, as you may hear. Of course, he rose and trotted by her side
like a dog, looking up at her as if she were a cathedral; but she
mistook his awe for impudence and sent him sprawling, with the words,
"Tak that, you glowering partan!"