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He was drunk, and I--I----"
"And you got in his way--was that it? You
shouldn't get in people's way when they are
drunk, little man; they don't like it. What shall
we do with this poor mite, signora? Come here
to the light, sonny, and let me look at that
shoulder. Put your arm round my neck; I won't
hurt you. There we are!"
He lifted the boy in his arms, and, carrying him
across the street, set him down on the wide stone
balustrade. Then, taking out a pocket-knife, he
deftly ripped up the torn sleeve, supporting the
child's head against his breast, while Gemma held
the injured arm. The shoulder was badly bruised
and grazed, and there was a deep gash on the arm.
"That's an ugly cut to give a mite like you,"
said the Gadfly, fastening his handkerchief round
the wound to prevent the jacket from rubbing
against it. "What did he do it with?"
"The shovel. I went to ask him to give me a
soldo to get some polenta at the corner shop, and
he hit me with the shovel."
The Gadfly shuddered.


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