through us and stepped out into the road.

It was so unexpected that there was an involuntary lull in the
proceedings.

"Tom!"

She pointed an accusing finger at the man, who gaped beerily.

"Tom, who pinched farver's best trousers, and popped them?"

There was a roar of laughter. A moment before, and Tom had been the pet
of the market, the energetic leader, the champion potato-slinger. Now
he was a thing of derision. His friends took up the question. Keen
anxiety was expressed on all sides as to the fate of father's trousers.
He was requested to be a man and speak up.

The uproar died away as it was seen that Kit had not yet finished.

"Cheese it, some of yer," shouted a voice. "The lady wants to orsk him
somefin' else."

"Tom," said Kit, "who was sent with tuppence to buy postage-stamps and
spent it on beer?"

The question was well received by the audience. Tom was beaten. A
potato, vast and nobbly, fell from his palsied hand. He was speechless.
Then he began to stammer.

"Just you stop it, Tom," shouted Kit triumphantly. "Just you stop it,