But Tommy saw that, from his size, he was more likely to get off than
Clare if he told the truth.

"Please, policeman," he said, "it wasn't him; it was me as took the
loaf."

"You little liar!" shouted the baker. "Didn't I see him with his hand
on the loaf?"

"He was a puttin' of it back," said Tommy. "I wish he'd been
somewheres else! See what he been an' got by it! If he'd only ha' let
me run, there wouldn't ha' been nobody the wiser. I _am_ sorry I
didn't run. Oh, I _ham_ so 'ungry!"

Tommy doubled himself up, with his hands inside the double.

"'Ungry, are you?" roared the baker. "That's what thieves off a
baker's cart ought to be! They ought to be always 'ungry--'ungry to
all eternity, they ought! An' that's what's goin' to be done to 'em!"

"Look here!" cried a pale-faced man in the front of the crowd, who
seemed a mechanic. "There's a way of tellin' whether the boy's
speakin' the truth _now_!"

He caught up the restored loaf, halved it cleverly, and handed each of
the boys a part.

"Now, baker, what's to pay?" he said, and drew himself up, for the man
was too angry at once to reply.