What Became of the Rope

"I didn't see any policemen, Ike," I said, as I thought of their power.

"More didn't I," he replied with a grim smile. "They don't care much
about going down these sort o' places; no more don't I. We're well out
of that job, my lad. You didn't ought to have gone."

"But that boy was running off with the best cart rope, Ike," I said
despondently, "and I was trying to get it back, and now it's gone. What
will Mr Brownsmith say?"

"Old Brownsmith won't say never a word," said Ike, as we trudged on
along a more respectable street.

"Oh, but he will," I cried. "He is so particular about the ropes."

"So he be, my lad. Here, let's brush you down; you're a bit dirty."

"But he will," I said, as I submitted to the operation.

"Not he," said Ike. "Them police is in the right of it. I'm all of a
shiver, now that bit of a burst's over;" and he wiped his brow.

"You are, Ike?" I said wonderingly.

"To be sure I am, my lad. I was all right there, and ready to fight;
but now it's over and we're well out of it, I feel just as I did when
the cart tipped up and all the baskets come down atop of you."

"I am glad you feel like that," I said.

"Why?" he cried sharply.

"Because it makes me feel that I was not such a terrible coward after
all."