holding down the snatching, catching, ringed hands.
“Lean your head daown—right daown!” he whispered. “It’ll go off in a minute.”
“I ca‑an’t! I do‑don’t! Oh, let me—” Mrs. Cheyne did not at all know what she said.
“You must,” Mrs. Troop repeated. “Your boy’s jest fainted dead away. They do that some when they’re gettin’ their growth. ’Wish to tend to him? We can git aout this side. Quite quiet. You come right along with me. Psha’, my dear, we’re both women, I guess. We must tend to aour menfolk. Come!”
The We’re Here s promptly went through the crowd as a bodyguard, and it was a very white and shaken Harvey that they propped up on a bench in an anteroom.
“Favours his ma,” was Mrs. Troop’s only comment, as the mother bent over